AMERICAN 
NIGHTS 


WILLIAM  KIMBERLY  PALMER 

and 
ERNEST  FANGS 


>pyright,  1919 


i 
tife  NEW  ERA  PUBLISHING  CO. 

SPRINGFIELD,  MASS, 


GIFT  OF 


(P/77 


AMERICAN 
NIGHTS 

BY 

WILLIAM  KIMBERLY  PALMER 

AND 

ERNEST  FANOS 


COPYRIGHT  1919 

•v/ 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  NEW  ERA  PUBLISHING  CO. 
SPRINGFIELD,  MASS, 


PRINTED   BY 

THE  C.  R.  KAPLINGER  CO. 

SPRINGFIELD,  MASS. 


PREFACE 

This  volume  has  been  prepared  at  the  request  of 
The  Publishers,  and  of  various  friends  from  time  to 
time. 

It  is  hoped  that  the  verses  and  descriptions  will 
prove  not  only  interesting  but  of  value  to  those  who 
are  solving  the  problems  that  have  interested  Wash 
ington,  Jefferson,  Lincoln  and  Roosevelt  and  Martha 
Washington,  Nancy  Hanks,  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  Julia 
Ward  Howe  and  the  great  souls  of  all  ages  and  all 
climes. 

The  Authors 


This  volume  is  dedicated  to  the  Young  Crusaders,  who 
fought  in  the  Great  World  Conflict  for  Liberty. 

The  Authors. 


THE  FIVE  MILLION. 

I  sing  of  the  brave  Five  Million, 

Who  held  the  foe  at  bay ; 
Of  that  mighty,  cheerful  legion, 

Whose  glory  will  ever  stay. 

They  came  from  the  lovely  Southland, 
From  the  North,  the  East,  and  West, 

And  their  record,  so  superb  and  grand, 
By  all  the  earth  is  blest. 

Ten  thousands  of  them  sleeping, 
On  Europe's  shell-torn  fields ; 

But  Time  is  ever  keeping 

Their  story  bright,  that  yields, 

Inspiration  for  the  Ages 

To  the  Nations  of  the  Earth ! 

And  Memory  turns  the  pages, 

And  gloats  upon  their  worth. 

Honor  the  brave  Five  Million, 

In  air,  on  land,  and  sea! 
That  splendid,  mighty  legion, 

The  Sons  of  Liberty ! 


American  Nights 

PART  I 

BY  WILLIAM  K.  PALMER 


OLD  GLORY. 

(At  Fort  Wadsworth.) 

Beneath  a  stormy  sky, 
Upon  the  fortress'  height, 
I  saw  "Old  Glory"  fly 
In  all  its  beauty  bright 
An  emblem  of  the  Peace 
That  fronts  the  darkest  day, 
With  cheer  that  will  not  cease 
To  triumph  o'er  dismay ! 
Proud  banner  of  the  free ! 
Ne'er  be  thy  colors  stained! 
Bright  pledge  of  Liberty; 
Through  God,  by  freemen  gained ! 

THE  SIXTY  THOUSAND, 

They  march,  those  sixty  thousand, 
Before  us  in  review ; 
Americans  from  sunny  Greece, 
To  God  and  justice 


8 


Some  far  away  are  sleeping, 
But  their  death  was  not  in  vain, 
And  Victory  whispers  softly : 
"Thy  glory  shall  not  wane." 

Amid  the  smoke  of  battle, 

While  the  clouds  of  sulphur  lower, 

They  fought  to  save  the  nations, 

From  the  rule  of  lust  and  power. 

Honor  the  sixty  thousand, 

The  living,  and  the  dead, 

Part  of  that  host  on  sea  and  land — 

By  Christ,  our  Captain,  lead. 


THE  IMMORTALS. 

All  honor  to  the  Army 
And  to  the  Navy,  aye, 
Who,  led  by  the  Eternal, 
Went  boldly  to  the  fray. 

The  stars  fought  in  their  courses, 
The  seas  bestowed  their  aid; 
God  bless  those  brave  young  heroes, 
Whose  glory  shall  never  fade. 

Let  Time  their  honor  heighten, 
With  fadeless,  rare  renown ; 
As  age  to  age  shall  brighten 
The  glory  of  their  crown, 


9 
THE  FIRST  LADY  OF  THE  LAND. 

O,  the  Red  Race  have  a  friend 

In  the  White  House  of  our  Land, 

Who  is  proud  of  her  Pocahontas  blood ; 

She  will  bring  them  o'er  the  flood 

To  the  goal  that  God  hath  planned, 

Whose  Wisdom  doth  our  human  thoughts  transcend. 

ON  CONGRESS  STREET. 

On  Congress  street 

The  Service  Flags, 
At  least,  I  think,  a  score, 
Seem  to  hang  beside  each  door. 
Some  of  the  lads  came  back  no  more ! 

To  Congress  street. 

On  Congress  street 

The  children  play ; 

The  sun  shines  bright  and  warm  today ; 
And  charming  memories,  they  stay, 
Of  young,  and  old,  and  friends,  alway, 

On  Congress  street. 


WASHINGTON. 

Chief  of  the  Heroes,  he  who  wisely  planned, 
For  all  the  tests  that  Time  shall  surely  bring ; 
The  winds  and  snows  of  Valley  Forge  could  sting, 
But  not  dismay,  this  Leader  of  our  land; 
So  shall  he  ever  to  our  children  stand, 
Wiser  than  sage,  and  greater  than  a  King, 


10 

Who  cheerful  through  the  storm  came  triumphing, 

As  one  who  could  himself,  and  all  command. 

Surely  Jehovah  did  this  man  ordain 

To  teach  our  sires  the  love  of  liberty; 

And  through  dark  days  the  victory  to  gain, 

Calm  and  unbaffled  by  adversity. 

So  shall  the  world  to  time's  remotest  days, 

His  courage,  honor  and  achievements  praise. 

"THE  Y  D". 

(In  Boston  April  25th  1919.) 
Lo,  All  the  city  throbs  with  pride, 
The  Twenty  Sixth  parades  to-day! 
Ere  to  their  homes  they  turn  aside, 
They  march  with  bands  and  banners  gay. 
Yet  some  in  France  and  Flanders  sleep, 
Whom  old  and  young  in  Memory  keep ; 
How  well  they  did  their  work,  we  know; 
Likewise — their  now  crestfallen  foe. 
The  bronze  will  tell  their  doings  bold 
And  to  posterity  unfold 
Their  valor,  manliness,  and  worth 
To  all  that  dwell  upon  the  Earth. 
Well  may  the  nation  bring  to-day 
Its  mead  of  praise,  and  garlands  gay; 
And  girls  and  boys,  and  all  acclaim, 
Their  bright — imperishable  fame. 

IRELAND. 

O  Land  of  poesy  and  song, 
Of  wit,  of  music,  and  of  mirth, 
The  greenest  isle  in  all  the  earth, 
May  Father  Time  remove  each  wrong, 


11 

And  give  thee  centuries  of  peace, 
Whose  annals  rival  ancient  Greece; 
May  aye  the  shamrock  and  the  rose, 
In  fair  luxuriance  abound, 
And  free  from  sorrow  and  from  woes, 
Live  on,  immortal  and  renowned. 

THE  HORNS  OF  SPRINGFIELD. 

I  hear  the  Horns  of  Springfield, 

As  they  sound  the  hour  of  One, 

On  the  afternoon,  July  seventeen, 

For,  the  noontime  rest  is  done. 

The  wheels  again  begin  to  turn 

I  hear  the  Factory's  din; 

And  we  may  well  a  lesson  learn, 

From  what  we  see  within. 

Over  a  thousand  toilers  there; 

And  each  one  on  the  job, 

All  working  to  a  common  end, 

And  not  one  shirk,  or  snob. 

Bless  the  toiler,  the  honest  in  mind, 

Who  preaches  the  Gospel  of  Work,  to  Mankind 

NEW  ORLEANS. 

In  New  Orleans, 

The  Creole  leans 

Against  the  rail,  and  reads 

Of  General  Jackson's  mighty  deeds ; 

Where  the  Statue  stands,  and  gleans, 

The  story  of  that  famous  day, 

When  the  hero,  and  his  men  won  fame, 

That  on  Time's  honored  page  will  stay, 

While  the  stars  on  high  shall  flame* 


12 
THE  URCHIN. 

He  was  the  problem  of  the  hour, 
When  scarcely  in  his  teens, 

With  his  freckled  face, 

And  his  boyish  grace, 
That  lad  of  neighbor  Greens. 
He  climbed  our  pear-trees  oft  at  nights, 
Altho'  he  knew  it  was  not  right, 
So  deuced  smart,  and  sly,  and  bright, 
That  lad  just  in  his  teens. 
His  name  is  Joe,  as  I've  been  told, 
And  his  Grand  pop  thinks  he's  good  as  gold; 
And  laughing,  oft  both  sides  will  hold, 
At  Joe's  pranks,  down  at  Greens. 
For  Grandpop  was  just  that  kind  of  a  lad, 

Some  forty  years  ago; 
And  oft  he  did  reminisce, 
With  his  grandson,  Freckled  Joe. 

For  Boys  are  Boys, 
And  there  are  all  kinds, 
On  our  winding,  lovely  street ; 
Then  comes  a  day 
And  they  change  their  minds. 
Law  me !  how  our  pulses  high  did  beat, 
As  we  read  that  Joe  was  cited  great, 
For,  that  famous  day  at  Chateau-Thierry, 
Joe  lost  an  arm  on  that  day  of  Fate, 
And  so  many  crossed, 

Death's  Ferry! 

Now  Joe  is  home  again  at  Greens, 
And  him  our  Nance  not  scorning, 
For  they  will  wed  'ere  winter's  snows, 
Her  cheeks,  they  give  the  warning! 


13 
SCOTLAND- 

The  Scotch,  they  are  a  canny  folk, 
And  not  above  a  wholesome  joke ; 
Where'er  they  go  they  make  their  way, 
And  build  as  if  they  mean  to  stay. 
Their  influence  is  just  immense, 
They  finish  what  they  do  commence. 
Here's  to  Old  Scotia  over  the  sea, 
Whose  hills  are  shrines  of  Liberty ! 

AUNT  HATTIE'S  BANJO. 

When  Aunt  Hattie  played  on  the  Banjo 

In  Illinois,  long,  long  ago 
And  sang  of  the  good  Nicodemus 

Then  we  all  did  share  in  his  woe. 
My  good  Father's  eyes  were  flooded — 

And  I  heard  his  deep  drawn  sigh, 
As  Aunt  Hattie  played  the  Banjo 

And  every  one  there  did  cry — 
"He  was  counted  as  part  of  the  Salt  of  the  Earth" 

I  still  hear  that  Banjo's  refrain — 
As  we  heard  of  that  Slave  of  African  birth 

I  can  see  that  fine  group  once  again. 
Aunt  Hattie  her  Banjo  should  have  up  on  high 

Where  she  and  that  group  must  have  gone, 
For  it  had  the  magic  of  yonder  blue  sky 

And  her  voice  was  enchanting  in  tone. 

BUSHNELL  PARK. 

The  Capitol  is  like  a  dream  most  bright! 
Its  dome  reflects  the  rising  sun, 
And  then  again,  when  day  is  done, 
It  seems  to  say  "Good  Night". 


14 


The  stately  trees  their  shadows  throw, 
The  song  birds  gather  there : 
And  beds  of  pansies,  gleam  and  glow, 
And  scent  the  evening  air. 

Knowlton  and  Putnam  guard  the  scene, 
And  Hale  within  the  Hall ; 
These  Heroes  names  are  ever  green ; 
And  Victory  throned  o'er  all. 

It  is  a  place  where  lovers  meet, 
Of  romance,  reverie,  rest  ; 
It  is  a  rendezvous,  retreat, 
For  those  we  aye  love  best! 

THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 

The  City  of  the  Golden  Gate 

Hooks  westward  on  the  sea ; 

And  in  its  harbor,  ships  of  state 

At  anchorage  there  be. 

Some  day  these  argosies  will  steer 

Far  out  into  the  west, 

In  search  of  all  that  man  holds  dear, 

To  the  Islands  of  the  Blest ! 

ATLANTIS. 

Atlantis  sank  beneath  the  seas, 
So  legendary  lore  doth  say, 
And  yet  from  that  Hesperides, 
We,  inspiration,  get  to-day. 
For  nought  in  Nature  goes  to  waste, 
And  Wisdom  ever  teaches  still, 
Tis  better  to  be  clean  and  chaste 
As  Greeks,  than  of  an  idle  will. 


15 


And  though  that  continent  no  more 
Is  seen  above  the  deep  blue  sea, 
They  found  somewhere  a  fairer  shore* 
That  leads  to  Infinity ! 
Perchance  some  day  that  vanished  clime 
Will  rise  above  the  surge,  sublime. 

ON  THE  PLAINS. 

Once  a  Cow  Boy  in  the  West, 
Ere  "Our  Teddy"  met  the  test ; 
And  I  did  my  very  best, 
In  those  days. 

At  Caldwell  oft  I  branded, 
With  the  lads  rough  and  well  sanded, 
And  the  lasso  oft  I  landed, 
On  the  Steers. 

And  at  Dodge  in  1880, 
Was  the  Marshal — Jones  or  Beatty? 
He  was  every  ready  Matey, 
For  a  fray. 

And  his  Colt,  he  ever  carried 
On  his  hip,  and  never  tarried, 
When  the  deuced  Gamblers  harried 
On  that  day. 

Those  were  days  of  cattle  herding, 
When  the  Rider  was  a  girding 
On  his  belt,  and  his  lingo  had  a  wording 
Brief,  complete. 

Days  of  Romance,  gone  forever, 
Of  "The  Round  Up"  and  the  clever 
And  strenuous  endeavor, 
Just  to  beat. 


16 

Major  Drumm  with  countless  yearlings, 
And  the  ranch  so  near  to  Bearings, 
The  Mexican  with  his  earrings 

Bright  and  gay. 

O  the  charm  of  the  Wild  Prairie 
And  though  luck  might  be  contrary ; 
Living  with  the  Cow  Boys  wary 

Was  the  way. 

Gone  the  Days  of  Trail  and  Romance 
And  the  boundless  Game  of  Chance 
But  I  hear  them  sing  and  dance 

On  the  Plain. 

And  at  Coman's  'neath  the  rafter 
Were   good   cheer  and   smiles  and   laughter. 
May  they  have  a  fine  Hereafter 

Ne'er  to  wane. 

MORNING  GLORY  FARM. 

Have  you  been  at  Morning  Glory  Farm 

On  the  edge  of  Arcady? 

Where  song  sparrow  sings  with  endless  charm 

And  robins  roam  the  lea ; 

Where  elms  and  locusts  rear  their  boughs 

Towards  the  azure  overhead, 

And  the  starlings,  and  the  blackbirds  rouse 

The  roses  bright  and  red ; 

Where  Nature  looketh  on  the  scene 

In  a  trance  of  calm  delight, 

And  every  clover,  fresh  and  green, 

Adds  beauty  to  the  sight? 

Here  Wordsworth  had  been  glad  to  stay, 

And  Goldsmith  been  beguiled ; 

Sad  Edgar  Poe  forgot  his  woe, 

While  Whitcomb  Riley  smiled. 


17 
TO  BABY  FRITZ. 

Thou  tiny  sprite  of  merriment, 

Cajoling  Father  Time, 

Until  the  hours  on  mischief  bent 

Have  dulled  his  scythe  sublime. 

Using  Time's  Hour  glass  for  thy  toy, 

And  pulling  his  beard  and  hair, 

Thou  art  a  most  audacious  boy 

And  as  blithe  as  thou  art  fair. 

Surely  this  good  old  gentleman 

Forgets  his  busy  round, 

Won  by  thy  winsome  little  plan 

To  cheer  his  plight  profound. 

Wiser  art  thou  than  Solomon, 

To  make  a  truce  with  Time, 

So  shall  thy  years,  my  blue-eyed  son; 

Flow  smoother  than  this  rhyme. 


SERGEANT  YORKE. 

There  is  Sergeant  Yorke  of  Tennessee 

Who  didn't  want  to  fight, 

But  when  he  sailed  in, 

"Why  did  he  begin?" 
The  Germans  said  in  their  fright. 
So  Yorke,  he  got  citations  great, 
And  then  he  went  back  to  his  native  state 
And  settled  down  with  his  mother  and  wife 
To  that  good  old-fashioned  mountain  life. 
The  legislature  of  Tennessee 
Made  Yorke  a  colonel  while  time  shall  be. 
Now  here's  a  man  his  neighbors  like. 


18 


Never  afraid  for  Truth  to  strike. 
A  lover  of  home  and  peace  alway 
And  afraid  of  nothing  that  comes  his  way. 

FATHER  TIME. 

When  Time  shall  try  his  quirt  on  thee, 
And  on  thy  arms  his  blows  shall  fall, 
Know  that  he  sees  infirmity 
That  he  would  end  at  once  for  all. 
Then  shrink  not  from  the  blows  of  Time, 
Nor  think  his  bufferings  unkind ; 
How  wondrous  are  the  Works  sublime, 
Of  Homer  and  Milton  blind ! 

CORONADO  IN  KANSAS. 

Centuries  since  the  swarthy  Spaniard 
O'er  these  rolling  plains  did  rove ; 
Searching  for  the  golden  treasures, 
Rumored  hid  by  stream  and  grove. 

Vain  his  quest  of  gold  and  silver, 
Disappointed,  back  he  drew ; 
Shrunk  his  valiant,  mighty  legion, 
To  a  footsore,  famished  crew. 

But  where  once  he  vainly  wandered, 
Baffled  by  mirage  and  heat; 
Stand  today  the  bustling  cities, 
And  the  fields  of  maize  and  wheat. 

For  the  Genius  of    the  Prairie 
Did  not  like  this  Suitor  Grim, 
And  her  rare  and  splendid  dower 
Hid  most  skillfully  from  him. 


19 


Long  years,  after,  when  the  Saxon, 
Seeking  Freedom  and  a  Home, 
Gladly  moored  his  prairie  schooner, 
On  this  rolling  crest  of  loam. 

Then  Dame  Nature,  half  relenting, 
Spilled  the  long  with-holden  rain; 
And  she  decked  the  plain  with  flowers, 
While  he  harvested  his  grain. 

Where  the  antelope  and  bison 

Had  for  ages  roamed  at  will, 

Soon  the  church,  the  shop,  and  schoolhouse 

Rose  as  by  magician's  skill. 

For  the  pioneer,  so  stalwart 
Did  the  wilderness  reclaim ; 
And  this  Commonwealth  so  mighty 
Doth  commemorate  his  aim. 

Long  since  mouldered  Coronado, 
And  his  followers,  to  dust ; 
Now  his  name  is  but  a  legend, 
And  his  keen  sword,  naught  but  rust. 

Oftentimes  I  see  the  phantoms 

Of  his  booty-seeking  band, 

When  the  twilight  throws  its  shadows 

Over  leagues  of  level  land. 

Till  the  whistle  of  the  night  train 
Thundering  westward  thro'  the  gloom, 
Puts  to  flight  the  Spectral  Spaniard, 
And  reverberates  his  doom. 


20 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT. 

Hushed  is  that  voice  of  honest  tone ; 

At  rest  that  valiant,  gentle  heart, 

Who  dared  to  take  the  Alien's  part, 

And  claimed  all  brothers  as  his  own ! 

No  narrow  bonds  of  Creed  or  Race, 

No  trifler  he,  with  Time  or  Fate ; 

He  thought  and  fought  while  others  wait,- 

To  see  what  side  should  Victory  grace. 

No  fair  dissembler  e'er  was  he ; 

No  slacker  in  the  field  or  hall; 

A  nature  of  nobility, 

And  ready  at  his  country's  call. 

O  Statesman  !     Patriot !     Hero,  thou ! 

With  immortelle,  we  crown  thy  brow. 

SCHWAB. 

S     chooled  in  the  Tasks  of  Time, 
C     lear-eyed  and  vigorous, 
H     e  was  the  man  for  us 
W    hen  came  the  call  sublime ; 
A     nd  so  shall  he  honored  be 
B     y  grateful  Posterity! 

THE  LOST  BATTALION. 

Have  you  heard  of  the  Lost  Battalion  ? 
In  that  fiery,  wooded  slope 
With  the  Devil  on  his  stallion, 
And  the  Huns,  they  had  to  cope. 
Five  days  without  their  rations, 
And  not  a  drop  to  drink ; 
In  their  fight  to  save  the  Nations 
From  reaching  chaos5  brink. 


21 


The  air  was  full  of  sulphur, 
The  clouds  of  conflict  rolled, 
From  the  dying  there,  no  murmur ; 
"With  God's  help,  this  place  we'll  hold." 
At  last  they  were  discovered; 
An  Irishman  brought  the  word, 
And  the  Living  were  recovered, 
While  all  Mankind  was  stirred. 
Wreaths  for  the  Lost  Battalion, 
For  it  shall  e'er  honored  be, 
In  every  land  and  nation 
For  its  grit,  and  gallantry. 

FALLS  OF  THE  PASSAIC. 

Leaping  and  dashing  down  on  its  way, 
Breaking  in  foam,  and  glancing  in  spray, 
Runs  the  Passaic  into  the  sea. 
Sharp  are  the  rocks  that  its  current  doth  bar, 
Deep  are  its  pools  that  mirror  each  star, 
And  tireless  its  tide  as  it  onrushes  free. 

Thou,  O  my  Soul !     like  this  river  must  run, 

On  to  thy  goal,  till  thy  journey  is  done. 

Tireless  and  fearless,  joyful  and  free, 

Shrink  not,  nor  tarry,  but  onward  for  aye ; 

The  Voice  of  the  Waters  is  calling  away 

To  the  Realm  where  thy  dreams  shall  realized  be. 

EDGAR  ALLAN  PCE. 

Brilliant,  soulful  Edgar  Poe, 

Born  in  Boston,  long  ago, 

How  your  verse  doth  haunt  the  mind 

Unto  whom  Fate  seemed  unkind! 


22 


Yet  we  trust  thy  soul  so  sad, 
Hath  by  this  time  grown  more  glad; 
And  on  that  mysterious  shore 
Thou  hast  found  the  Lost  Lenore. 

MASTERY. 

The  tree  that  stands  in  the  open, 
And  wrestles  with  the  Wind, 
Is  a  tree  of  strength  and  fiber 
That  mocks  the  blasts  unkind ; 
And  the  soul  that  climbs  to  Heaven, 
Shall  leave  its  faults  behind. 

DONIZETTI. 

'Twas  at  the  Broadway  play-house, 

And  the  Pianist  Masculine, 

Handled  those  piano  keys 

In  a  manner  mighty  fine. 

And  airs  from  "Lucia  Di  Lammermooor" 

Came  floating  through  the  air, 

And  I  blessed  the  great  Donizetti 

For  that  melody  so  rare. 

The  Composer  long  since  vanished 

From  this  music-loving  sphere, 

But  his  harmonies  still  haunt  us, 

And  the  soul  uplift  and  cheer ; 

Such  is  the  spell  immortal, 

Of  him,  we  all  hold  dear. 

AT  THE  "Y." 

Many  an  irksome  hour  had  not 
They  their  welcome  wide  bestowed, 
All  along  the  battle  road, 


23 

And  where  smoke  of  conflicts  blot 

All  the  landscape  from  the  eye 

Of  the  men  who  fight  and  die, 

In  that  far  off  land  of  France ! 

As  we  o'er  Time's  pages  glance, 

Well  we  know  and  realize 

That  such  service  never  dies, 

But  will  live  in  the  days  to  come 

When  no  longer  beats  the  drum, 

Rousing  men  to  War's  alarm ! 

May  the  victories  of  Peace 

Come  to  brighten  future  days; 

And  may  the  Earth  yield  her  increase, 

As  the  God  of  Heaven  we  praise ! 

HENRY  T.  McEWEN. 

He  was  the  friend  of  Roosevelt, 
When  they  waged  war  'gainst  crime ; 
And  still  the  woes  of  earth  are  felt 
By  my  friend,  tall  and  sublime. 
And  Opposition  oft'  doth  melt, 
As  he  keeps  step  with  Time. 

THE  CONNECTICUT. 

This  winding,  mystic  river, 
Where  the  Indians  long  ago 
With  canoe,  and  oar,  and  quiver, 
Did  watch  its  current  flow. 

They  saw  the  dawn  of  daybreak, 
And  the  crimson  sunset  fair, 
The  river  that  drains  the  Mountain  Lake, 
And  the  Valley  of  Legends  rare. 


24 


Here  the  Indians  dwelt  for  ages, 
Hunting  the  bear  and  deer; 
Ruled  by  their  Chiefs  and  Sages, 
While  Connecticut  ran  clear. 

The  salmon  they  speared,  and  sturgeon, 
By  the  stars  their  steps  did  guide ; 
But  the  dip  of  their  oar  is  heard  no  more, 
Though  the  river  runs  deep  and  wide. 

Then  the  Pale  Face  came,  and  the  Red  Man 
From  the  Valley  did  fade  away; 
And  as  the  thriving  towns  you  scan, 
The  river  seems  to  say : 

"O  you,  that  have  rowed  on  the  Hudson, 
And  floated  on  the  Rhine, 
What  think  you  of  this  Valley, 
Where  Mt.  Tom  looks  down,  benign?" 

And  thus  we  answer  the  river, 

While  to  her,  we  softly  say : 

"The  Greek  and  the  Pole,  the  Croat  and  the  Slav, 

Have  joined  us,  here  to  stay." 

"Here  the  welfare  of  the  people, 
Is  the  problem  of  the  hour; 
And  the  bells  from  out  each  steeple, 
Bring  a  message  of  Love  and  Power !" 

"This  peaceful  Valley  hath  a  charm, 

For  the  folk  from  over  the  sea ; 

No  tyrant  can  harass  or  harm, 

In  this  Valley  of  Liberty."  ! 


25 

They  come  from  the  Lands  of  Asia, 
From  the  Af  ric  sands,  we  see, 
And  every  clime  of  Europe 
Hath  here  her  progeny. 

From  each  American  Nation, 
Below  the  equator's  line, 
And  from  all  the  wide  Creation, 
To  the  land  of  Apple  and  Pine ! 

And  Fate  shall  weld  these  elements, 
In  the  crucible  of  Time  ; 
For,  what  the  Almighty  doth  commence, 
Hath  a  destiny  sublime! 

ENRICO  CARUSO. 

C  lear,  ringing  voice  that  moveth  young  and  old, 

A  rt  thou  a  part  of  that  great  harmony, 

R  une  of  the  stars,  and  of  the  tossing  sea, 

U  nder  the  depthless  azure,  we  behold  ? 

S  inging  on  Earth  ere  thou  shalt  take  thy  place 

O  n  some  Olympian  Height  of  Art  and  Grace. 

CASTAIGNE. 

Who  hath  a  touch  of  Genius  rare, 
And  limns  the  Sky,  the  Sea,  the  Air, 
Whose  work  would  charm  away  dull  care, 

Castaigne ! 

Whom  Rembrandt  would  be  glad  to  see, 
And  Titian,  quite  as  well  as  we, 
Who  hath  a  noble  nature  free ! 

Castaigne ! 


26 

ITALY. 

Upon  the  Height 
Thy  Sons  did  fight, 
For  Truth  and  Right. 
God  gave  them  might ! 

An  Age  more  bright, 
For  thee  in  sight, 
And  rare  delight, 
By  Day  and  Night. 

SWITZERLAND. 

Arnold  von-Winkelreid  led  the  band, 
That  saved  valiant  Switzerland 
From  the  dreaded  Austrian  yoke ; 
As  for  the  Swiss  a  path  he  broke. 
He  gave  his  life  long  years  ago, 
And  thus  they  overcame  the  foe. 
Echo  the  Alps  his  voice  today, 
As  when  he  led  them  in  the  fray ! 

GARABALDI ! 

This  man  by  Heaven  sent 
Fought  on  the  Western  Continent, 

Other  folk  to  free, 

As  well  as  Italy. 
Then  in  Europe  he  did  fire 
The  hearts  of  all  his  Countrymen 

With  sword  and  pen, 

And  ever  them  inspire. 
Then  came  a  day  of  Victory, 
Whose  fruits  we  see  today  ; 

And  Italy,   fair  Italy, 

United,  free  alway. 


27 

ARIZONA. 

Arizona  is  a  region 

Where  the  winds  are  full  of  balm, 

Land  of  Romance,  Expectation, 

Of  Achievement  crowned  with  palm ; 

Where  the  folk  are  ever  friendly, 

Where  the  skies  are  ever  blue ; 

Arizona,  may  you  prosper, 

With  your  children,  strong  and  true. 

THE  GREAT  WORKMAN. 

O  Carpenter  of  Galilee, 
The  Architect  of  Time  and  Space, 
Content  to  fill  a  'prentice  place, 
And  teach  proud  man  Humility. 

O  Son  of  Mary  and  our  Lord, 
Thy  labors  put  our  ease  to  shame ! 
We  bear  Thy  cross,  we  bear  Thy  name, 
May  we  thrive  in  Thy  word. 

OPPORTUNITY. 

If  you  cannot  be  a  hero, 
At  the  Marne  or  Bunker  Hill, 
You  can  always  do  your  duty, 
And  in  love,  your  pathway  fill 
With  small  acts  of  daily  service, 
Of  fidelity  and  skill, 
That  the  Over-Soul  shall  honor, 
When  this  globe  shall  pass  away, 
And  the  dream  of  all  the  poets 
Shall  at  length  arrive  to  stay ; 
In  the  ages  of  Hereafter 
Drawing  nearer  day  by  day. 


28 

GREECE- 

Still  the  story  of  her  Heroes 

Thrill  the  hearts  of  all  today, 

And  the  splendor  of  their  daring 

Is  a  legacy  alway. 

And  her  seers  and  sages  ever, 

And  her  women  of  renown, 

Are  the  World's  and  ours  forever, 

As  their  shrines  with  wreaths  we 'crown. 

THE   OCCIDENT. 

O  the  joy  of  the  Western  Hemisphere, 

Where  the  farmer's  son  is  the  happy  peer 

Of  the  highest  within  the  land. 

Where  the  sailor  and  mechanic, 

And  the  toiler  in  the  mine, 

May  achieve  some  task  titanic, 

With  a  boundless  fame  benign. 

THE  ELEVEN. 

Eleven  youths  were  summoned 
By  the  Voice  that  rules  the  sea, 
From  the  tossing  waves  of  Otis  Pond, 
To  a  land  where  they  ever  be 
In  the  sunshine  of  His  favor, 
Who  walked  on  Galilee ; 
If  Death  is  but  a  portal, 
To  a  land  supremely  fair, 
Why  shrinks  the  timid  mortal 
From  that  realm  of  beauty  rare  ? 
Where  songs  and  strains  of  music 
Are  heard  forever  there? 


29 


O,  that  group  of  lads  are  singing, 
And  wearing  Palms  of  Light, 
And  the  bells  of  Heaven  are  ringing, 
Where  dwells  for  aye — delight. 
They  gather  flowers  unfading, 
New  duties  find  to  do, 
In  the  presence  of  the  Master, 
Whom  well  on  earth  they  knew. 

A  MEMORY. 

When  the  wind  blows  off  the  ocean 

O'er  the  city  La  Rochelle, 

And  the  Mermaids  leave  the  briny, 

To  ring  each  phantom  bell ; 

When  Neptune  in  his  chariot, 

Comes  riding  o'er  the  sea, 

O  think  then  of  thy  childhood, 

When  afloat  we  used  to  be, 

On  the  Sound  near  Starin's  Island, 

Fair  as  the  Aegean  Sea, 

And  the  band  played  "Hiawatha," 

While  the  salt  airs  whistled  free. 

Though  the  pleasant  days  have  vanished, 
Yet  they  left  a  shining  track, 
And  we  can  still  hear  the  echoes, 
As  to  them  we  oft'  look  back. 
We  can  watch  the  great  clouds  gather, 
As  they  used  to  gather  then ; 
Sailing  in  the  splendid  azure, 
Bound  for  shores  beyond  our  ken. 
So  I  send  you,  comrade,  greeting, 
From  this  land  of  Elm  and  Pine ; 
Hasten  quickly  here  to  join  me 
Where  the  breezes  blow  benign. 


30 

SICILY. 

Be  kind  unto  my  Friend,  O  Isle, 
Who  loves  thy  beauty  and  thy  smile, 
And  ever  charm  him  and  beguile, 
Who  tarries  here. 

His  hours  are  well  and  wisely  spent, 
He  loves  the  bending  firmament, 
With  Sicily  he  is  content, 

Whom  I  hold  dear. 

O  Isle  set  in  that  swelling  sea, 
His  face  is  towards  Eternity, 
This  lover  of  humanity, 

Of  music's  sphere. 

SERVIA. 

How  hast  thou  suffered  in  the  past ! 
No  figures  sum  thy  losses  vast; 
Thou  into  War's  vile  vortex  cast, 
And  yet  in  God  a  Friend  thou  hast. 

He  yet  shall  give  days  of  delight, 
Shall  crush  the  hands  that  thee  would  smite. 
Trust  thou  in  Him,  in  shade  and  light, 
For  centuries  wait  thee,  glad  and  bright. 

VIOLET-CROWNED  ATHENS, 

In  Athens  stands  the  stately  palm, 
The  rare  Acacias  bloom  ; 
And  underneath  the  skies  so  calm, 
The  rose-hued  Oleanders  loom, 
While  lovely  pepper  trees  adorn 
This  city  on  this  dazzling  morn. 


31 

What  memories  cling  unto  this  scene, 

Of  sage,  and  orator,  and  seer ; 

Of  women  beautiful,  serene ; 

Of  youth  and  childhood  in  this  sphere, 

Where  Gods  and  Demi-gods  looked  down 

Upon  this  reverential  town. 

Here  great  Athena  had  a  shrine, 
Pentelicus  and  Hymettus  guard 
This  place,  half  human,  half  divine, 
Famed  in  the  songs  of  many  a  bard. 
And  still  we  feel  that  Destiny 
A  Golden  Age  hath  awaiting  thee. 

O  Roses,  scent  this  sacred  air ! 
O  Breezes,  from  yon  purple  hills, 
Your  odors  waft  to  Islands  fair ! 
While  every  pleasant  memory  thrills 
The  souls  of  all  the  true  and  free 
Who  love  this  shrine  of  Liberty. 

Thy  olive  groves,  thy  cypress  trees, 

Lysicrates'  chaste  monument; 

The  Parthenon  that  rules  the  seas, 

Beneath  the  azure  firmament. 

What  countless  legends  haunt  this  place, 

Where  Beauty  is  enthroned,  and  Grace. 

PORTUGAL. 

They  come  from  Portugal  to  aid, 
The  host  against  the  Hun  arrayed, 
And  in  the  days  to  come,  their  songs 
Shall  praise  bestow,  where  praise  belongs ; 
For  not  in  vain  the  hero  dies, 
Making  the  supreme  sacrifice. 


32 

GOD  BLESS  NEW  ENGLAND. 

God  bless  New  England  and  her  pine-clad  hills, 
That  stand  in  silence  'neath  the  wintry  skies ; 
At  thought  of  thee,  her  urn  fair  Memory  fills 
With  recollections  meet  for  Paradise. 

Thy  sainted  dead  that  meekly  lie  at  rest, 
Waiting  the  dawn  of  Resurrection  Day ; 
How  all  the  ends  of  earth  by  them  are  blest, 
Who  knew  the  right  to  choose  it,  come  what  may. 

The  wives,  the  mothers,  and  the  daughters  fair, 
No  words  can  e'er  portray  the  good  they  wrought, 
Who  lived  and  labored  in  this  bracing  air, 
And  all  thy  heroes,  seers  and  sages  taught. 

Some  deem  thy  manners  rigid  and  uncouth, 
But  He,  who  did  this  grand  plantation  set 
Hath  countless  shrines  here  consecrate  to  Truth, 
And  guards  and  blesses  this  New  England  yet. 

O  snow-girt  Mount  rearing  thy  summit  high ! 
O  River,  gliding  swiftly  to  the  sea, 
Echo  the  song  whose  strains  should  never  die: 
God  bless  New  England  to  eternity. 

HAIL  VICTORIA! 

Hail,  worthy  queen  of  England's  mighty  realm ! 
Give  peace  to  those  who  will  not  doff  the  helm, 
Or  own  thy  sway.     Thou  warder  of  the  seas 
Crush  not  the  freedom  of  such  men  as  these, 
Who  love  the  Word,  and  bow  to  God  alone. 
So  shall  thy  name,  Victoria,  honored  be 
In  home  of  Boer  and  Briton,  and  thy  throne 
More  firmly  rest  in  all  futurity ; 


33 


To  win  the  love  of  those  who  now  oppose, 
To  change  to  friends,  thy  most  obdurate  foes ; 
Surely  this  task  is  in  thy  power  to  do, 
Thus  honor  God,  and  to  thyself  be  true. 
Thus,  Queen  Victoria,  all  by  love  subdue. 

THE  CABIN. 

"Uncle  Tom"  stands  out  in  Memory, 
As  a  saint  upon  the  earth, 
And  with  Little  "Eva"  sharing 
Much  that  Heaven  thinks  of  worth ; 
And  that  madcap  "Topsy !" 
What  a  fountain-head  of  mirth ! 
And  the  author,  she  has  joined  them, 
Where  there  is  no  dole  nor  dearth. 

THE  SAGE  AND  THE  SUN. 

Alexander  said  to  Diogenes  'neath  the  blue, 
"What  great  gift  can  I  give  to  you?" 
And  the  Philosopher  of  the  Tub— 
As  all  the  world  that  sage  doth  dub — 
Said :     "Stand  not  twixt  the  sun  and  me," 
And  that  is  good  philosophy. 

The  sage  who  simply  lives  austere 
Has  naught  of  the  Gods  to  ever  fear, 
And  can  teach  the  greatest  on  this  sphere. 


ROLY-POLY. 


Little  Roly-Poly 
Lives  in  LaRochelle ! 
Frisky  as  a  squirrel, 
Vocal  as  a  bell. 


34 

He's  so  optimistic, 
That  no  one  can  frown 
When  they  see  this  youngster 
In  his  cap  and  gown. 

Little  Roly-Poly 
Gets  up  with  the  sun, 
And  until  his  bedtime 
He  is  king  of  fun. 
Gray  beards  and  spectacles, 
Vaunt  him  as  their  chief ; 
Really  as  a  Reign-Beau, 
He's  beyond  belief. 


ARMENIA. 

Armenia,  Armenia, 

Our  thoughts  go  out  to  Thee! 

O  Land  so  long  by  Moslem  ruled, 

Republic  thou  shalt  be! 

One  of  the  Sisterhood  of  States, 

In  Federation  bound, 

And  all  the  World  shall  lend  a  hand, 

Armenia  renowned ! 

Thy  sorrows  shall  forgotten  be, 
The  Almighty  shall  requite 
Thy  ages  dark  of  agony, 
And  give  thee  peace  and  light! 
Armenia,  Armenia, 
Our  thoughts  go  out  to  Thee, 
America  hath  sent  her  sons 
To  give  thee  Liberty ! 


35 

THE  MAIDEN. 

There  is  a  bust  in  the  gallery 

Of  an  Italian  maid, 

And  Dorothea  posed  I  am  sure, 

As  a  Princess  there  arrayed. 

Some  day  I  will  show  you  the  marble, 

And  you  can  let  me  know 

The  time  you  gave  a  sitting 

In  those  days  on  the  banks  of  the  Po. 

There  is  mirth  on  that  gentle  forehead, 

And  a  smile  on  the  face  serene, 

And  there  is  your  "tout  ensemble" 

My  little  Bethel  queen. 

You  will  live  in  that  marble  vision, 

When  the  century  hath  flown; 

For  youth  is  featured  there  benign, 

My  Darling  One — My  Own. 

MOUNTAIN  PARK. 

At  Mountain  Park  the  roses  bloom, 

The  air  is  rich  with  sweet  perfume, 

And  on  this  August  afternoon, 

The  clouds  as  Argosies  ride  free 

Upon  the  deep  and  azure  sea, 

And  heaven  and  earth  are  both  in  tune. 

The  children  roll  upon  the  grass, 

And  the  glad  moments  pass. 

The  orchestra  afar  we  hear, 

As  playing  in  another  sphere ; 

And  as  we  sit,  and  muse,  and  dream, 

Music  doth  reign  serene,  supreme. 

The  gardener,  seated  by  my  side, 

Looks  o'er  the  landscape,  satisfied 


36 


We  hear  the  bumble  bee's  refrain, 

Far,  far  above  the  verdant  plain; 

And  on  the  breeze  is  borne  along, 

The  high  and  clear  soprano  song. 

Stretching  afar  towards  fair  Vermont, 

The  farm,  the  forest,  hill  and  dale ; 

And  soars  the  hawk  o'er  fen  and  fount, 

Above  the  fertile,  peaceful  vale. 

Bright  beds  of  pink  petunias  smile, 

Nature  doth  here  all  folk  beguile, 

Upon  this  peaceful,  upland  slope 

Where  reign  the  three — Love,  Life  and  Hope 

THE  MINERS. 

Delve  deep!     Delve  deep! 

While  your  wives  and  children  weep ; 

Be  content  with  rags  and  bread, 

And,  shut  in  from  sun  and  sky, 

Be  content  to  delve  and  die ! 

Delve  deep  !     Delve  deep ! 
On  your  bent  knees  crawl  and  creep, 
Wondering  whether,  wondering  whether, 
Soul  and  body'll  keep  together. 

Delve  deep  !     Delve  deep  ! 
Where  the  noisome  gases  leap ! 
Where  death  stalks  on  every  side 
In  the  dampness  dark  and  drear, 
Work — inured  to  grief  and  fear. 

Delve  deep !     Delve  deep ! 
To  God  the  wives  and  orphans  weep ; 
Each  hungry  and  half-clad  child, 
That  cries  to  Heaven  for  redress, 
Touches  the  Soul  of  Tenderness. 


37 

Delve  deep  !     Delve  deep ! 
The  Almighty's  not  asleep; 
Though  the  rich  thy  wrongs  forget, 
Though  thine  eyes  with  tears  are  wet, 
There's  a  friend  who  loves  thee  yet. 

Delve  deep!     Delve  deep! 
From  each  rocky  slope  and  steep, 
Echo  tidings  from  the  sky, 
"Work  and  pray — day  by  day ; 
I  will  guide  thee  with  Mine  eye." 

Delve  deep!     Delve  deep! 

Shall  the  State's  foundations  keep 

Firm,  when  good  folk  faint  and  starve  ? 

Grind  the  faces  of  the  Poor, 

And  God's  wrath  is  swift  and  sure. 

Delve  deep  !     Delve  deep  ! 
I  tremble  for  the  souls  who  keep 
No  watchful  eye  upon  their  men; 
Who  hasten  not  their  wrongs  to  right, 
Nor  make  the  miner's  burden  light. 


A  MOTHER  OF  A  FALLEN  HERO. 


She  gave  her  son  for  thee, 

Columbia ! 

He  comes  not  back  from  o'er  the  sea, 
He  died  for  truth  and  Liberty, 

Columbia ! 


38 


We  never  can  repay  our  debt, 

Columbia ! 

Unto  this  mother  lone,  and  yet 
She  should  be  shown  we  ne'er  forget, 

Columbia ! 

Care  for  the  mothers  of  the  brave, 

Columbia ! 

Who  gave  their  all,  our  Land  to  save, 
Who  died  to  humble  tyrant  knave, 

Columbia ! 

THE  ALMIGHTY. 

When  the  thrones  of  earth  are  shaking, 
And  you  know  not  what  to  do, 
Trust  in  God,  nor  e'er  forsaking 
Him,  who  loves  and  cares  for  you. 

He  who  cares  for  thrush  and  sparrow, 
For  all  life  upon  this  sphere, 
Cares  for  all  the  Seed  of  Adam, 
And  the  poor  to  Him  are  dear. 

He  is  the  Almighty  Ruler, 
And  His  Kingdom  over  all. 
They  who  build  upon  His  promise, 
They  shall  never,  never  fall. 

HAMPTON   COURT. 

At  Hampton  Court  once  lived  Queen  Anne, 
But  roses  fade,  and  queens  must  go. 
There's  nothing  permanent  below, 
Since  Life  upon  this  World  began, 
So  e'er  thy  youth  and  vigor  dies, 
Prepare,  prepare  for  Paradise. 


39 

SANTA  CLARA. 

Clara  Barton,  with  her  wisdom, 

And  her  insight  of  the  need, 

Cared  for  soldiers  in  the  conflict, 

Did  assuage  the  wounds  that  bleed. 

Then  she  founded  a  consummate 

And  world-wide  society, 

That  will  keep  her  memory  vernal, 

While  the  moon  doth  draw  the  sea. 

And  the  cross  she  chose  to  blazon 

On  the  Banner  of  that  Guild, 

On  whose  form  in  days  long  vanished, 

The  Redeemer's  blood  was  spilled. 

Santa  Clara,  Santa  Clara, 

Thou  shalt  ever  honored  be 

By  the  World's  remotest  nations, 

For  thy  love  and  charity. 

And  the  Golden  Age  oncoming, 

Shall  raise  many  a  shrine  to  thee. 

THE  POSTMAN. 

Who  comes  to  see  us  twice  a  day 
Save  Sundays  and  a  Holiday? 
It  is  the  Postman  in  the  gray. 

May  he  live  long  to  bear  the  mail, 
And  bring  us  news  of  what  is  done 
Out  on  the  sea  where  ships  do  sail, 
And  on  the  land  we  live  upon. 

The  messages  of  love  he  bears, 
Sometimes  bad  news  he  brings  to  me ; 
And  yet  he  daily  with  us  shares 
What  we  are  glad  to  know  and  see. 


40 


Go  on  thy  worldly  path  until 
Thy  course  is  ended  on  this  earth ; 
And  He  who  ruleth  Heaven,  will 
Remember  all  thy  honest  worth. 


RICHARD   KIRKLAND,  HERO! 
(December  13,  1862-) 

When  you  name  the  gallant  heroes 
That  Columbia  has  reared, 
Remember  Richard  Kirkland, 
To  the  Boys  in  Blue  endeared. 

A  memory  of  wartime, 
And  Fredericksburg  the  field ; 
One  of  the  rare  events  sublime, 
Love  on  her  leaf  hath  sealed. 

On  Mary's  Heights,  the  Union  Men 
By  hundreds,  wounded  lay; 
Where  the  gallant  Sykes  had  led  them, 
On  cruel  yesterday. 

In  vain  their  desperate  valor, 
For  the  grass  was  crimsoned  now, 
And  the  dews  of  death  were  gathering 
On  many  a  manly  brow. 

All  night  the  cannon  thundered, 
And  swept  by  shot  and  shell, 
The  space  between  the  armies 
Seemed  the  theatre  of  Hell. 


41 


And  when  the  morning  opened, 
The  storm  but  seemed  to  grow; 
While  'mid  the  noise  of  battle, 
Were  heard  the  cries  of  woe. 

"O  give  us  water,  quickly!" 

The  Boys  in  Blue  did  call. 

'Tor  Christ's  sake!     Water!     Water!" 

But  in  vain  their  pleadings  fall. 

For  the  hoarse  tones  of  the  cannon 
Spoke  of  conflict  and  of  death, 
And  mercy  seemed  a  mockery, 
Whose  envoy  lingereth. 

The  sun  had  passed  the  noontide  hour, 
The  voices  weaker  grew 
Between  Kershaw's  entrenched  brigade, 
And  Syke's  Boys  in  Blue. 

Till  at  last,  one  gallant  soldier 
Who  wore  the  Southern  gray, 
Stood  before  his  brave  commander. 
We  must  honor  him  alway. 

"General  Kershaw,  I  can't  stand  it!" 
Said  the  Sergeant,  earnestly. 
"What's  the  matter  ?"  quoth  his  leader ; 
Perplexed  and  puzzled,  he. 

"These  poor  souls  have  long  been  praying, 
All  night  and  day  as  well, 
Let  me  go,  and  give  them  water, 
They  are  dying  where  they  fell." 


42 

"Do  you  know,"  the  leader  answered, 

While  his  admiration  grew, 

"Soon  as  you  leave  the  rampart, 

They  will  shoot  you  through  and  through  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  but  to  carry  water 
To  those  men  before  they  die 
I  am  willing  to  run  the  risk,  Sir, 
If  you  say  so,  I  will  try." 

Then  Kershaw,  hesitating, 
Said  :     "I  can't  oppose  you — go ; 
For  the  sake  of  it,  God  save  you 
From  the  firing  of  the  foe." 

Then  outstepped  the  gallant  Sergeant, 
On  that  storm-swept  battle  slope, 
With  his  full  canteen  of  water, 
And  his  face  aglow  with  hope. 

The  suffering  saw  in  that  hero 

A  good  Samaritan, 

Who  loved  his  northern  neighbors  more 

Than  his  own  life  blood — this  man. 

He  knelt  by  the  nearest  soldier, 
And  tenderly  raised  his  head, 
Giving  a  draught  of  water, 
And  gracious  words  he  said. 

Straightening  the  cramped  and  mangled  limbs, 
He  doth  pillows  of  knapsacks  make, 
Spreading  blankets  and  army  coats, 
As  a  mother,  for  their  sake. 


43 


The  fire  began  to  slacken, 
From  the  sulphurous  Northern  line, 
And  wondering  eyes  from  either  side, 
Watched  this  messenger  divine. 

For  over  the  darkest  battlefield 
The  divinity  of  love 
May  hush  the  clamorous  cannon  peal, 
While  she  sends  down  her  dove. 

Two  hours  the  fusilade  of  death 
Was  hushed  upon  that  height; 
Hatred  forebore  its  blasting  breath, 
In  wonder  at  the  sight. 

Until  his  Christ-like  work  was  done, 
The  batteries  silent  stayed; 
And  dim  eyes  looked  their  gratitude, 
Such  mercy  cannot  fade. 

Land  of  our  love,  let  deeds  like  this 
Commemorated  be! 

While  over  South  and  Northland  homes 
The  dear  old  Flag  floats  free. 

CHATEAU  THIERRY. 

"I  am  very  glad — yes,  very ; 

I  was  at  Chateau  Thierry." 

Said  a  Hero  unto  me. 

"For  there  I  helped  to  save  Paree !" 

EDISON. 

E  lectricity  waited  for  thee, 

D  uring  long  cycles  of  delay, 

I  mpatient  that  its  power  so  free 

S  tood  idle  till  thou  cam'st  to  stay. 

O  n  every  sea  beneath  the  sky, 

N  eath  every  star,  thy  currents  fly. 


44 

SOLACE. 

If  you  cannot  be  a  chemist 

At  the  Mellon  Institute, 
You  can  view  Mts.  Tom  and  Holyoke, 

In  fair  Knowledge's  true  pursuit. 
You  can  watch  the  auroral  flushing 

In  these  splendid  nights  of  spring, 
When  the  evening  stars  are  blushing 

And  the  tree-toads  blithely  sing. 

NATHAN  HALE. 

Nathan  Hale ! 

While  the  clouds  on  high  shall  sail, 
Shall  thy  memory  prevail 

Nathan  Hale ! 

While  the  stars  grow  red  and  pale, 
Never  shall  thy  glory  fail- 
Nathan  Hale ! 

Nothing  lost— Thou  dost  avail 
In*  the  mountain  top  and  vale 

Nathan  Hale ! 
Thou  shalt  ever,  ever  be 
As  a  Hero,  grand  and  free, 
In  this  Land  of  Liberty ! 

Nathan  Hale ! 

LEAP  YEAR. 

Twas  Leap  Year,  January  First  in  1912 
At  that  gay  party,  down  at  Pete's ; 
That  Sal  had  me  invited  to, 
With  the  folks  likewise  at  Deitz' ; 


45 


When  Sal  got  me  upon  that  floor 

And  the  fiddle  began  to  play, 

"O  Bob,"  she  said,  "it  is  Leap  Year ! 

And  marry  me  you  may. 

You  can  plow  and  reap  for  me,  O  Bob, 

And  I'll  make  your  apple  pies." 

So  I  up  and  kissed  her  'fore  the  crowd, 

Somewhat  to  their  surprise. 

The  Parson  jined  us  that  day  week, 

And  he  tied  the  knot  secure ; 

And  there's  two  girls,  likewise  two  boys, 

To  prove  my  story's  sure. 

And  if  you  chance  to  pass  our  door, 

Drop  in,  and  see  the  "Lively  Four." 

THE  ENCOURAGERS. 

Don't  be  a  Tightwad  or  a  Grouch, 
On  this  western  Hemisphere ; 
Join  the  band  of  the  Encouragers, 
Whose  deeds  to  the  earth  are  dear. 
The  Miser  is  a  failure,  great, 
The  Profiteer  is  a  fool, 
There  is  no  brighter  or  finer  state, 
Than  the  mood  of  the  Golden  Rule. 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

The  Harp  of  Erin  now  is  mute, 

And  silent  now  the  pipe  and  lute ; 

He  once  who  in  the  West  land  did  roam, 

Sleeps  silent  far  beyond  the  foam. 

Yet  still,  the  stars  look  down  on  thee, 

And  Ireland,  waiting  to  be  free ! 


46 


Is  there  some  Champion  on  Earth, 
To  free  this  land  of  honest  worth  ? 
O  wake,  thou  Harp  in  Tara's  Halls, 
As  Ireland  to  high  Heaven  calls ! 

MARY  ANN. 

O  Mary,  Mary  Ann ! 
She's  just  the  girl  for  me ! 
Fair  and  blithe  as  a  fairy, 
The  girl  of  Tennessee. 
Till  the  clock  strikes  25, 
And  dry  is  the  deep  blue  sea, 
O  Mary,  Mary  Ann ! 
She's  just  the  girl  for  me. 

O  Mary,  Mary  Ann ! 

She  can  bake  and  she  can  sew ; 

She  can  play  and  sing,  and  she  can  plan, 

And  I  am  her  only  beau. 

My  Mary,  Mary  Ann ! 

She's  no  doll,  or  flirt,  or  shrew. 

"O  when  the  moon  is  new,"  she  said, 

"Then  we'll  wed,  my  Dan," 

ALSACE-LORRAINE. 

Alsace-Lorraine,  Alsace-Lorraine ! 

Thou  art  a  part  of  France  again. 

Kingdoms  may  rise,  and  Kingdoms  may  wane, 

But  Liberty  for  aye  shall  reign, 

Above  each  mountain  and  each  plain, 

In  beautiful  Alsace-Lorraine. 


47 


So,  all  the  Lands  of  Freedom  send, 
Congratulations  to  this  Friend ; 
And  all  the  Earth  rejoice  with  thee, 
In  the  triumph  of  thy  People  Free. 
Forever  the  Tri-color  wave, 
Above  thy  "beautiful  and  brave ! 

THE  CURFEW  OF  CHICOPEE. 

In  my  boyhood,  in  the  sixties, 

In  historic  Chicopee, 
I  heard  each  night  the  curfew  bell, 

Ringing  o'er  dale  and  lea. 
And  in  Greenwich  Village,  later, 

The  curfew  at  nine  did  say: 
"Go  to  your  beds,  O  children, 

And  rest  for  the  coming  day." 
While  from  the  height  of  Mt.  Morris, 

In  that  bright  old  Harlem  town, 
The  curfew  rang,  and  the  curfew  rings, 

As  Time  looks  kindly  down. 
Again  in  the  vale  of  Chicopee, 

The  curfew  bell  I  hear ; 
And  its  tones  are  just  as  cheerful, 

As  when  a  boy,  and  as  clear. 
"He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep," 

The  curfew  seems  to  say ; 
"Go  to  thy  bed,  with  God  o'erhead, 

And  rest  till  dawn  of  day !" 

ETERNITY. 

Still  flows  the  Hudson  to  the  sea, 
And  stand  the  Highlands,  green  and  fair ; 
So  steer  thy  Argosy  and  dare 
The  fathomless  Eternity! 


48 
WILLIAM  OF  GRISWOLD. 

The  Friend  of  Lincoln  in  the  West; 
A  Brother  to  Mankind  alway, 
And  looking  for  the  Golden  Day, 
He  did  his  best,  and  earned  his  rest. 

PATRAS. 

Gateway  to  Greece ! 

The  Garden  of  the  Gods ; 

Empires  may  cease, 

But  thou,  'gainst  great  odds, 

Art  still  the  harbor 

Where  the  Muses  find 

Rest  and  an  arbor, 

And  contented  mind. 

Thou  lookest  on  Missolonghi, 

Where  great  Byron  sank  to  rest; 

And  thy  children  reverence  Liberty 

And  with  courage  meet  each  test ; 

Thou  dost  challenge  the  coming  ages, 

As  their  argosies  come  in  sight, 

And  dost  turn  the  opening  pages, 

Of  the  Future,  grand  and  bright. 

"WHY  CHASE  THE  PHANTOM?" 

Thus  spoke  the  good,  gray-headed  man, 
To  his  flock  on  that  Kansas  Plain ; 

And  across  the  intervening  years, 
I  still  hear  that  refrain, 
"Why  chase  the  Phantom?" 


49 


The  folk  of  the  present  strenuous  age, 
Over  this  saying,  may  ponder  well ; 
Who  are  bent  on  wealth,  or  pleasure  gay, 
It  sounds  as  clear  as  the  kind  Church  Bell : 
"Why  chase  the  Phantom?" 


ARABIAN  NIGHTS. 

In  a  log  cabin  in  Hoosierland, 

An  earnest  youth  oft  hours  beguiled, 

Reading  of  Sinbad,  sailor  wild, 

And  "The  Forty  Thieves"  that  cruel  band. 

Thus  A.  Lincoln  read  of  Aladdin 

And  his  wondrous  Slave  and  Lamp! 

About  the  time  the  night  dew's  damp, 

And  nightfall  with  its  firesides  gladden. 

A  thousand  and  one  nights  of  pleasure, 

Did  Scherazerade  give  her  lord, 

Who  heard  her  tales,  and  kept  his  word ; 

And  this  young  Pioneer  in  his  leisure, 

The  Orient's  joys  and  life  did  share, 

In  the  wild  Prairie  Forest  air. 


RUSSIA. 

How  great  thy  loss  and  sacrifice! 

Is  there  some  Washington  to  rise 

To  be  a  Father  to  that  Land, 

We  here  so  little  understand? 

May  no  wild  orgy  dark  of  crime, 

No  longer  blot  thy  Land  Sublime. 

Look  thou  to  Heaven  for  Strength  and  aid 

Nor  let  the  Earth's  compassion  fade. 


50 

HOOSIERLAND. 

Only  Her  children  understand 
The  joys  and  charms  of  Hoosierland ; 
The  rare,  rapt  charm  of  loveliness, 
The  peace  that  knows  no  angry  stress, 
The  rural  pleasure  bright  and  gay, 
That  pass  not  with  the  years  away ; 
The  unaffected  welcome,  where 
One  really  breathes  the  native  air. 
No  molestation  of  the  weak, 
The  general  good  the  public  seek ; 
The  hive  of  industry  is  here, 
Mingled  with  laughter,  all  the  year ; 
The  zest  of  cheerfulness  doth  charm, 
The  strenuous  work  of  town  and  farm. 
Why  should  the  happy  Hoosier  chase 
In  search  of  other  resting  place, 
When  Wisdom  cries,  "Be  happy  here, 
Where  hope  doth  reign,  unknown  of  fear." 

UNCLE  NED'S   ADVICE. 

"Don't  be  a  perpetual  candidate," 

My  uncle  said  to  Joe. 

"And  do  not  be  afraid  to  wait, 

Give  the  other  man  a  show. 

Had  Napoleon  been  less  ambitious, 

And  out  of  Russia  kept, 

His  luck  had  been  less  fictitious, 

Nor  he  at  St.  Helena  wept." 

There's  a  grain  of  truth  in  what  he  said 

To  Joe,  many  years  ago, 

And  that  saying  still  clings  to  Uncle  Ned : 

"Give  the  other  man  a  show," 


51 

OUR  HEROES. 
(Memorial  Day,  1890.) 

On  many  a  Southern  slope  they  sleep, 
Our  Boys  in  Blue  and  Gray; 
Over  their  graves  the  grasses  creep, 
And  the  myrtle's  mystic  spray. 

Dear  unto  us  each  Hero's  name, 
As  Memory  weaves  her  spell ; 
But  fairer  than  the  wreath  of  fame 
Our  fadeless  immortelle. 

The  bugle  call  no  more  is  heard 
At  early  break  of  day, 
But  blithely  sings  the  Mocking  Bird 
His  clear-toned  reveille. 

The  Seasons  in  procession  glide — 
They  wait  the  trump  on  high, 
When  Heaven  its  gates  shall  open  wide. 
Who  dared  for  Truth  to  die. 


THE  OVER-SOUL. 

Nothing  by  him  create 

Doth  God  hate; 

He  abhorreth  evil, 

Yet  slayeth  not  the  devil. 

A  mystery  is  this  to  those 

Who  would  annihilate  their  foes ! 


52 
THE  MARTYRS  OF  LIBERTY. 

Women  and  Men  of  many  a  clime  and  race, 
Whose  deeds  of  glory,  Time  will  never  erase — 
Thou  hast  in  Heaven,  a  sure  abiding  place. 

And  children,  likewise,  with  the  sainted  dead, 

Who  like  their  forbears,  lived,  and  died,  and  bled ; 

They  shall  abide,  when  Wrong  is  vanquished. 

Great  Socrates  !     a  Soul  of  matchless  worth ! 
Joan  of  Arc !  the  maid  of  humble  birth, 
And  such  as  they — superior  to  Earth. 

Lincoln  who  lived  to  lift  the  World  up  higher, 
Edith  Cavell,  whom  Heaven  did  inspire, 
And  unknown  Souls,  of  that  Immortal  Choir. 

Not  always  does  the  rack  or  fire  await 
The  Martyrs  of  true  Liberty  so  great ; 
Sometimes  they  plod  and  toil  for  years,  disconsolate, 

Although  no  aureole  on  Earth,  their  brows  adorn, 

Yet  in  the  Hereafter,  they  shall  find  a  Morn 

That  shall  repay  for  aye,  the  Hours  of  Time  forlorn. 


THE  STAR  OF  GOLD. 

One  star  upon  her  sleeve,  of  gold 

The  story  told. 

For,  far  he  sleeps,  beyond  the  sea, 
Her  son,  who  died  for  you,  and  me, 

And  Liberty ! 


53 


Her  face  was  pale,  and  wet  with  tears ; 

Alone  for  years! 
She  faces  future  days  of  care ; 
And  no  one  now  with  her  to  share, 

Such  her  despair. 

Let  us  these  mothers  ne'er  neglect 

Who  walk  erect, 

With  sacred  sorrow  on  their  brows — 
Whose  sons  no  reveilles  arouse 

From  Death's  dark  house. 


SAPPHO. 

Famed  in  song,  and  famed  in  story, 
Ever  Greece,  thy  pride  and  glory ; 
As  the  ages  sweep  along, 
Is  this  Queen  Supreme  of  song! 
Still  celestial,  charm  she  bears, 
And  true  Womanhood  still  shares, 
As  Time's  bright,  consummate  crown, 
Her  august  and  rare  renown ! 

SARCASM. 

This  is  a  gift  to  be  sparingly  used ; 

Is  sarcasm; 
Too  often  by  brilliant  folks  abused, 

A  chasm 

It  brings  that  you  never  can  bridge ; 
For,  it  lasts  as  long  as  the  Great  Blue  Ridge  I 
So  youth  !     Beware  of  sarcasm. 


54 
CELIA. 

I  remember  you,  O  Lass 

And  your  Sire ! 
Time  and  Tide  swiftly  pass, 

And  desire. 

"Let  us  make  a  truce  with  Time" 

Debonair ; 
Glad  years  full  four  score  and  more 

Be  thy  share. 

Kind  Memory  evermore 

To  our  best 
Brings  a  halo,  bright,  sublime, 

That  dost  rest 

On  the  lovely,  noble  brows 

Of  our  friends! 
They  our  fortitude  arouse, 

Till  Time  ends. 

And  inspire  us  to  our  goals, 

Shining  souls, 

And  to  courage  that  controls, 
While  Time  rolls! 

RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

O  Gilder! 
You're  the  builder 

Of  many  a  stirring  rhyme; 
Your  tombstone 
Will  crumble  down ; 


55 

Your  lines  will  outlast  Time ! 
Voice  of  power, 
O  such  the  dower 

That  Nature  grants  to  thee! 

Scorning  gold 
You  gain  a  hold 
On  the  Ages  that  shall  be. 

WHEN  ALICE  PLAYS. 

When  Alice  plays  the  Violin 

Then  woodland  elves  their  songs  begin, 
And  echoes  of  the  days  of  eld 
Float  down  the  strings  by  Alice  held. 
When  Alice  plays  the  violin 
And  with  deft  touch  doth  move  the  bow, 
She  fills  the  air  with  merry  din, 
And  summons  back  the  "long  ago". 
Then  faces  vanished  long,  return, 
And  childhood's  voices  we  discern. 
The  scenes  and  songs  of  Arcady 
Come  back  as  from  Eternity. 
Our  eyes  are  filled  with  sudden  tears, 
Our  souls  are  thrilled  for  coming  years, 
And  rapt  in  reverie  we  roam 
Afar  in  Lands  beyond  the  foam. 

CORPORAL  KING. 

A  soldier  came  limping  down  the  street 
With  a  "Maple  Leaf"  upon  his  breast 
He  had  helped  the  Teuton  hordes  defeat 
Was  of  "Canada's  very  best," 


56 


We  talked  of  the  far  off  Flanders  field, 

Of  the  fighting  done  in  France, 

Of  the  Valiant  boys  who  their  lives  did  yield 

Our  Freedom  to  enhance. 

Then  he  went  quietly  on  his  way, 

The  King  that  would  stand  no  kaiser's  sway! 

May  time  good  fortune  to  you  bring 

O  modest,  manly  Corporal  King. 


WHEN  BILL  SPELLED  DOWN  THE  SCHOOL 

"Next   Friday"  said  the  teacher, 

"We'll  have  a  spelling  Bee; 

And  I'll  give  Longfellow's  Poems, 

To  the  him,  or  to  the  she, 

Who  spells  the  whole  school  down, 

And  does  the  thing  up  brown." 

That  Friday  afternoon,  we  all 

Lined  up,  upon  that  school:  house  floor, 

Some  thirty  boys  and  girls,  or  more. 

Sal  tumbled  down  on  "frigid" 

Tom's  "goose"  had  but  one  O 

And  Joe,  he  just  got  rigid, 

As  "watermillion"  he  spelt  slow; 

And  Lucy  Bates,  she  failed  on  "weights" 

While  Hiram,  quite  forgot, 

Whether  one  t  or  two,  occured  in  skates. 

There  was  glee,  and  there  was  laughter, 

When  Bill's  sweetheart,  Nellie  Jones, 

Failed  on  the  word  "Sweet  William" 

In  very  somber  tones; 

But  Bill  kept  his  station 

And  Bill  spelled  down  the  line* 


57 

On  that  adjective,  so  simple 

It  was  that  simple  word  "Benign." 

But  when  Bill  Pool,  went  home  from  school, 

With  pretty  Nellie  Jones, 

I  heard  him  say  to  her,  in  very  pleasant  tones ; 
"I'll  lend  this  Longfellow  to  you,  my  dear, 

I  won  to-day  at  school, 
Until  the  Day  that  I  can  call,  you, 

Mrs.  William  Pool. 

CHICAGO. 

O  Queen  of  the  Unsalted  Seas ! 
Upon  the  verge  of  blue 
What  is  thy  Destiny?  Not  Ease! 
But  work  for  the  World  to  do. 
Not  numbers  nor  riches  make  thee  great, 
But  the  spirit,  that  doth  dominate, 
Thy  folk  who  face  the  tasks  of  Time, 
With  energy  and  will  sublime! 

THE  DEAD. 

Where  they  fell  let  them  lie, 
Neath  the  Immemorial  Sky; 
Who  were  glad  for  Truth  to  die 
Where  they  sleep  let  them  lie. 

DORIS. 

Little  Doris  gathered  violets 

In  that  vale  so  passing  fair, 

She  has  vanished  from  that  valley, 

Young,  and  beautiful,  and  rare, 

Full  of  smiles,  and  songs,  and  laughter, 


58 


To  the  realm  of  the  hereafter. 

When  the  robin  comes  in  spring-time, 

And  the  oriole  is  here; 

Then  song  sparrow  tells  them  cheerly, 

"She  is  in  another  sphere", 

When  the  dew  falls  in  the  evening, 

When  the  stars  come  out  on  high, 

We  shall  list  for  Doris  singing, 

As  a  lark  in  days  gone  by. 

Gentle  Doris  !  Lovely  Doris  ! 

And  the  Zephyrs  will  reply ; 

"She  has  reached  that  joyous  region, 

Yet  unseen  by  mortal  eye". 

THE  VIOL. 

When  Reuben  Goodman  drew  the  bow, 
The  viol  rilled  the  air  with  tone, 
That  roused  the  memories  sublime, 
Of  Youth's  bright  kingdom  long  ago; 
Too  beautiful  to  last,  and  flown 
Unto  the  furthest  shores  of  Time. 
When  Reuben  Goodman  played,  the  choir, 
Felt  its  keen  thrill  of  pleasure  deep, 
And  sang  with  inspiration  strong, 
Catching  the  fervor  of  his  fire ; 
His  music,  memory  long  shall  keep 
Though  he  has  joined  the  sainted  throng. 

THE  MUSICIAN. 

When  Clifford  touched  the  silent  keys, 
They  woke  to  music  fine  and  rare, 
And  dreams  of  an  Hesperides 
Were  trembling  in  the  evening  air. 


59 


From  some  far  coast  beyond  our  ken, 
These  tones  come  floating  to  our  ears, 
And  we  think  now  as  we  thought  then, 
They  chorded  with  the  choiring  spheres. 
O  Music !  all  the  Muses  list 
When  one  who  loves  thee  doth  translate 
The  harmony.     And  winds  are  whist 
To  hear  the  theme  from  Heaven's  gate. 
So  live  the  echoes  of  a  song 
Within  the  memories  of  one 
Who  will  through  endless  time  prolong 
Its  beauty,  from  the  Great  Vault  won. 

WANG  JUNIOR. 

(1919) 

O  Wang  is  the  Mascot  clever 

At  Tuft's  of  class  Nineteen ! 

Whose  Sire  and  Dam,  in  China  born, 

Love  Massachusetts  keen. 

For  here  was  born  the  youngster 

That  the  Class  at  Tuft's  adopt 

To  be  their  Mascot  ever 

As  their  fields  by  Time  are  cropped. 

Be  this  a  happy  omen 

Of  that  bright  auspicious  day, 

When  Orient  and  Occident, 

In  bonds  of  friendship  stay. 

TO  A  FRIEND. 

Fine  is  the  Spirit, 
And  grand  is  the  mood; 
Never  to  fear  it, 
Or  lack  gratitude; 
Such  is  thy  merit, 


60 
GRANT  AT  MT.  McGREGOR. 

Old  Lion-Heart  at  McGregor, 

Was  nearing  his  end  that  night; 

That  sturdy  blue-eyed  Hero, 

Of  many  a  well-fought  fight ! 

With  his  left  he  held  grim  Death  at  bay, 

And  with  the  other  hand  did  write 

The  record  of  his  long  campaign, 

That  the  Whole  Land  should  be  one  again. 

Then  as  the  last,  last  chapter's  done, 

He  closes  his  eyes,  the  goal  is  won. 

Great  in  battle  as  History  saith; 

Greatest  at  Appamattox,  and  in  the  hour  of  death. 

THE  KING  OF  THE  COW  BOYS 

O  Jack  was  the  King  of  the  Cow  Boys — 

When  I  was  out  at  Dodge ;   ; 
He  was  known  from  San  Antone  to  Butte, 

From  Denver  to  Medicine  Lodge. 
He  could  throw  a  rope 

With  skill  superb, 
He  could  tame  the  fiery  steed, 
With  the  wildest  he  could  quickly  cope ; 

And  he  was  a  friend  indeed. 

'Twas  a  stunning,  stunning  black 

Broncho,  dear  old  Jack 

Did  ride  on  that  August  day. 
And  the  boys  were  glad  to  see  him  back 

'Twas  a  regular  holiday. 
His  sweeping,  broad  sombrero. 

Was  a  dream — a  marvel,  boys  I 


61 


And  his  great  gauntlets,  so  gay  and  fine 
And  that  rainbow  kerchief  about  his  neck 

As  he  rode  down  the  line. 
His  high-heeled  boots  did  glisten, 

And  his  spurs  did  jingle  then, 
As  he  in  his  leather  breeches  rode 

The  handsomest  of  men. 
His  belt  it  bore  two  Colts  or  more, 
And  though  Jack  only  rarely  swore 
When  he  sailed  in; 
There  was  a  din, 

As  never  once  before. 
His  yellow  slicker  and  clean  coat 

At  his  saddle  neatly  hung, 
Riding  up  that  lively  street, 

Sound  of  limb  and  lung. 
His  blue  shirt  was  a  beauty ; 

His  teeth  were  fine  and  white; 
He  was  ever  on  his  duty, 

And  never  afraid  to  fight. 
His  hands  so  strong  and  handsome ; 

His  eyes  they  said  "Beware" ! 
"Don't  fool  with  me — O  Stranger — 

I'm  ready  to  do  and  dare." 
And  Maud  from  Mississippi 

And  Sal  from  Frisco  fair, 
Thought  Jack  the  easiest  rider 

Of  all  the  Cow  Boys  there. 
He  could  take  a  glass  of  liquor — 

And  then  could  let  it  be ; 
For  he  never  was  a  slave  to  drink 

This  Cow-Boy  bold  and  free. 


62 


Then  out  from  the  hotel  yonder 

Came  the  gambler  with  his  gun, 
He  was  game  and  he  was  crafty, 

And  then  the  fun  begun. 
"Come  on  you  damned  red-headed ! 

I'll  blow  you  into  hell," 
And  he  for  Jack  then  started, 
And  chaos  came  pell  mell. 
Then  Jack  he  rode  like  a  whirlwind, 

Up  that  dusty,  crowded  street ; 
For  a  grittier  lad  you  will  never  find, 

Or  a  harder  one  to  beat. 
And  a  lively-lively  fusilade, 

From  his  gleaming  Colts  then  came, 
While  the  crowd  an  opening  wide  they  made, 

As  his  pistols  flash  their  flame. 
And  when  Jack  saw  the  gambler  wild, 

Who  had  killed  Jack's  Pard  last  week, 
He  filled  him  full  of  lead — my  child — 
This  King  from  Gypsum  Creek. 
O  Jack  was  the  King  of  the  Cow  Boys ! 

Now  he  has  a  ranch  of  his  own. 
And  on  the  rippling  Kiowa — 

His  brand  it  is  well  known. 

A  bar  and  then  a  circle 
And  then  another  bar. 

There  is  a  brand  I  tell  you 
That  none  dare  ever  mar. 
His  cattle  large,  and  fat,  and  sleek 

Can't  be  beat  from  Butte  to  San  Antone. 


Jack  married  San  Francisco  Sal — 
She  makes  his  bread  and  pies ; 


63 


While  three  lively  boys,  and  a  little  gal 
Have  their  Father's  laughing  eyes. 

They  are  peart  and  they  are  handsome, 
And  tanned  'neath  that  Western  sun, 

While  Jack  and  I  are  comrades  still 
And  till  life's  last  day  is  done. 


THE  IMMORTELLE. 

This  delicate  white  wee  blossom, 

With  its  center  of  pure  gold — 
Is  a  Hope  of  The  Resurrection, 

That  the  Past,  and  Present  hold. 
It  speaks  of  a  pure  devotion, 

To  the  Maker  in  the  skies ; 
As  fadeless  as  The  Asphodel — 

And  a  blessing  to  the  wise. 
So  we  wreathe,  our  dear  departed, 

With  these  immortal  flowers, 
To  cheer  the  broken-hearted, 

Who  have  known  happier  hours ; 
For  only  a  time  are  we  parted, 

From  those  friends,  so  true  of  ours. 


THE  KANSAS  PRAIRIE  LARK. 

Blithe  yellow  breasted  prairie  lark! 

November  winds  may  chill  and  pierce; 
Spellbound,  the  lorn  and  careworn  hark 

Till  quite  forgot  the  blast  so  fierce, 


64 

Choosing  from  countless  themes  thy  text; 

"All  anxious  thought  forbear  ye  vext. 
The  Guardian  Genius  of  this  sphere 

Will  make  the  cloudy  vision  clear." 

Sweet  singer  of  this  Western  slope 

From  frosty  morn  till  starlit  eve, 
Thy  notes,  the  accent  of  our  hope 

Have  put  to  flight  all  thoughts  that  grieve. 

No  travesty  of  sacred  theme, 

Thy  glad  Te  Deum  thrills  with  praise, 

The  bright  ideal  of  a  dream, 

Breathes,  moves,  and  whispers  through  thy  lays. 

Clear  spirit  echoes  wake  with  thee, 

And  sordid  schemes  ashamed  flee ; 
Thy  song  shall  cheer  our  hours  of  toil, 

And  calm  life's  current  if  it  roil. 

Glad  Archer !  dauntless  prairie  lark, 
Thy  shaft  of  song  hath  hit  the  mark. 

Singing  for  love  and  not  for  hire, 
Thy  carol  soars  above  the  choir. 

Who  taught  thee  that  rare  song  and  true? 

A  melody  forever  new, 
A  tone  so  pure,  so  sweet  a  trill, 

When  love  kens  love,  where  will  weds  will. 

Sing  on,  brave  Voice !  Sing  on  for  aye, 
Nor  change  thy  cheerful  tones  bright  fay. 

Despair  will  die  of  mute  chagrin 
When  thou  thy  warble  dost  begin. 


65 

A  SECOND  HERCULES 

Sergeant  Hercules  Korges,  Company  L,  23rd  Infantry. 

I. 

What  a  kindly  face  that  youth  from  Lynn, 
In  that  splendid  company  "L" 
A  twinkle  in  his  eye,  that  doth  win, 
Friends  that  would  follow  him  to  the  hell. 
Of  the  World's  Great  Conflict  for  the  Truth, 
Fought  by  America's  ardent  youth. 

II. 

O  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  scheme  ? 
As  this  Lynn  youth  in  France  did  dream. 
He  deserted  to  the  German  Camp, 
As  the  nightfall's  dews  fell  thick  and  damp. 
"No  more  of  the  Allies  now  for  me" 
"For  I  am  the  friend  of  Germany" 
"I  know  where  their  line  is  weak  and  thin"; 
He  said  with  an  emphatic  grin. 
"Pick  a  company  of  tried  men  and  true ; 
And  there  to  that  spot  will  I  lead  you." 
So  the  Germans  trusted  this  gay  young  Greek, 
Who  did  their  welfare  and  victory  seek; 
And  when  the  nightfall  came  again, 
Hercules  Korges,  led  those  men, 
Two  hundred  and  fifty-six,  I  ween, 
In  the  darkness  through  the  dark  ravine ; 
He  led  them  well,  and  he  led  them  true, 
To  where  the  Yankees  were  he  knew; 
And  when  he  had  reached  the  place  he  sought, 
The  ambushed  Germans  he  had  caught. 
"You  are  my  prisoners  now !  you  be !" 
This  blithe  and  wily  Grecian,  he, 
Then  said  to  the  consternated  Huns, 
As  they  stacked  there  their  swords  and  guns ! 


66 

III 

It  reminds  us  of  renowned  Ulysses, 

This  canny  Korges,  a  second  Hercules ! 

Who  was  welcomed  at  the  city  of  Lynn, 

With  music,  merriment  and  din, 

And  given  the  City's  Keys  to  hold, 

For  his  wondrous  Deeds  and  manifold. 

And  "Old  Camp  Devens"  gave  Korges  a  Day, 

And  a  night  that  will  ever,  ever  stay, 

In  the  memory  of  mortal  man ; 

Of  this  daring  Greek  and  his  wondrous  plan. 

And  as  you  shall  Time's  pages  scan, 

You  will  find  that  Fame  has  writ  his  name, 

In  letters  of  light  and  living  flame ! 


TODAY. 

Do  all  the  good  you  can  today, 
Tomorrow  is  so  far  away — 

And  gone  is  Golden  Yesterday 
For  e'er  and  aye ! 
Be  wise  Today. 


THE  FIRE  FIGHTERS. 

Ready  when  the  signal  sounds, 
See  how  each  man  swiftly  bounds! 
And  they  are  well  up  the  street 
Ere  you  can,  a  score  repeat. 
Danger  threatens  to  inspire 
All  the  men  who  fight  the  fire. 


67 


When  the  world  is  fast  asleep 
They,  their  vigil  watchful  keep 
At  the  silent  midnight  hour 
Lest  the  Fire-Fiend  rise  in  power. 
Let  these  Heroes  have  your  prayers ; 
Who  meet  danger  unawares. 

You  and  I  lie  down  to  sleep 

Knowing  they,  their  vigil  keep, 

'T  is  a  noble  calling  sure, 

And  while  courage  shall  endure, 

Will  The  Fireman  ever  be 

As  a  guardian — bold  and  free ! 

COUSIN  BIJE. 

Always  ready  to  oblige 

Is  Cousin  Bije. 

"Will  you  stop  up  at  the  store 

For  a  sack  of  flour,  and  two  jars  more? 

And,  Bije,  don't  forget 

To  have  them  put  it  on  the  score." 

And  when  a  neighbor's  sick, 

Then  Bije 

Has  a  chance  to  sit  up  for  a  night  or  so, 

Really,  I  can  see  his  wings  a  grow ! 

For  he  never,  never  gets  in  a  pet 

Not  yet, 

Does  Bije. 

THAT  PITCHER. 

The  day  was  over  and  supper  done, 
At  uncle  L's  upon  the  street, 
"A  pitcher  of  cider,  would  be  a  treat" 
Aunt  Maria,  she  did  say; 


68 


So  with  pitcher  and  candle,  uncle  L 
Started  down  those  cellar  stairs. 
He  missed  his  footing  unawares, 
Landing  on  the  cellar-floor  pell  mell ; 
"Mr.  Chapin"  then  the  good  wife  said; 
From  the  top  of  those  steep  cellar-stairs ; 
"Did  you  break  that  pitcher?" 
Then  Uncle  L,  he  quick  up  flares: 
"Gol  darn  it— I  didn't,  but  I  will" 
And  right  agin  that  cellar  wall 
She  heard  the  broken  pitcher  fall, 
And  I  can  also,  hear  it  still ; 
The  good  old  cider-days  are  gone, 
And  other  folk  at  the  homestead  live ; 
The  fence  has  vanished  from  the  lawn ; 
But  still  the  brook  its  tide  doth  give. 
Kind  Uncle  L  has  joined  the  just 
And  Aunt  Maria  she  went  fust ; 
Good  folk  both  in  their  own  good  way 
And  Uncle,  The  gayest  of  the  gay. 


THE  NOBLE  THREE. 

There's  Greeley,  Bowles  and  Bryant, 
A  group  of  fearless  men, 
When  error  grew  defiant, 
Each  hero  grasped  his  pen. 

They  were  Knights  of  Freedom  ever, 
With  an  ardent  love  of  Truth, 
And  they  live  in  Fame  forever, 
Bright  examplars  to  our  youth ! 


69 


Let  those  who  would  champion  Labor, 
And  women,  child,  and  man, 
Be  as  true  to  Friend  and  Neighbor, 
As  the  Three,  we  here  do  scan. 


YOUNG  AMERICA  IN  GREEK  COSTUME. 

(April  13th,  1919.     Holyoke  City  Hall.) 

Three  lads  in  Greek  attire  arrayed, 
And  a  lovely  little  maid; 
There  they  had  an  honored  part, 
Pleading  for  that  Land  of  Art, 
Long  by  Moslem  hate  so  wronged. 
They,  who  to  the  World  belonged, 
Now  look  forward  to  a  day 
When  the  Truth  shall  have  full  sway. 
Happy  children !     May  you  be 
Messengers  of  Liberty 
From  the  Isles  of  Hellas  fair, 
Where  the  souls  so  great  and  rare, 
'Neath  those  bright,  consumate  skies, 
Wisdom  loved  that  never  dies ; 
And  in  this  free  western  clime, 
Live  your  lives  of  Love  sublime ! 

ADELE. 

Fair  the  girl  with  tresses  rare, 
And  the  sunbeams  glistened  there; 
In  the  Home  of  Gotham's  Isle 
Fair  the  girl,  and  bright  her  smile. 


70 

Graceful  as  a  Fairy  Fay ! 
Open,  radiant  as  the  day ; 
As  she  came  to  Womanhood 
Death's  white  Angel  near  her  stood. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "to  Paradise," 
"Earth  is  not  the  place  for  you" ; 
And  he  parted  wide  the  skies, 
And  she  vanished  from  our  view ! 

Still  her  brother  knows  the  worth 
Of  the  treasure  lost  from  earth; 
Waits  and  watches  for  the  day 
She  will  beckon  him  away ! 

TO  YOUNG  AMERICA. 

Then,  ever  be  true 

To  the  Red,  White  and  Blue; 

While  the  stars  shed  their  light, 

And  the  night  brings  the  dew ; 

Do  your  duty  alway, 

For  your  God  and  your  Land; 

Whose  glory  shall  stay, 

While  the  mountains  shall  stand ! 

A  SCHOOLMATE. 

Thy  radiant  beauty  did  adorn, 

Mocking  the  glory  of  the  Morn ! 

With  thee,  I  never  was  forlorn. 

So  shall  thou  ever,  ever  be, 

An  inspiring  memory, 

Of  pure  love  and  liberty. 

Thy  cheeks,  were  crimson  as  the  rose, 

Thy  eyes,  did  purity  disclose, 

And  with  thy  charm,  the  bright  Past  glows. 


71 
UNION  SQUARE. 

In  Union  Square 
The  fountain  plays, 
The  lilies  float  so  fair, 
The  sparrow  sprays 
His  mate  so  blithe, 
The  children  gaze ; 
Time  with  his  scythe, 
He  also  stays 
At  Union  Square. 

The  buildings  loom. 

Above  the  square; 

But  ne'er  is  gloom, 

At  nightfall  there ; 

The  lights  shine  bright, 

The  children  still 

Find  fresh  delight 

At  music's  thrill,  on  Union  Square. 

MY  OLDEST. 

He  was  born  in  "Good  Old  Dixie" 

Near  the  Oklahoma  line 

And  he  came  in  gracious  April, 

A  gift  from  Heaven  benign. 

And  the  meadow  lark  sang  sweetly 

Upon  that  sunny  morn, 

For  a  comrade  and  a  lover 

Had  the  eve  before  been  born. 

Since  then,  he  has  come  Northward, 

But  some  future  day,  I  hope 

He  will  visit  his  bright  birthplace 

Upon  that  Kansas  slope. 


72 


Where  the  meadow  larks  sing  sweetly, 
And  the  skies  in  beauty  bend, 
And  in  poverty  or  plenty, 
Man  lacketh  ne'er  a  friend. 


COMRADES. 

I  have  rowed  with  them  on  Connecticut, 

On  the  Harlem's  salty  tide ; 

On  Rockland  Lake,  where  the  lilies  grow; 

And  many  a  stream  beside. 

With  some  on  the  lordly  Hudson ; 

On  the  Kennebunk  River  blue; 

With  some  on  the  Winding  Wabash, 

And  on  the  Vermillion  too; 

Where  Potomac  glideth  to  the  sea, 

And  streams  where  the  herons  rest; 

And  they  are  all  right  dear  to  me, 

And  all  of  the  very  best. 

Young  and  fair  and  forever, 

In  radiant  memory; 

Comrades  and  Friends,  that  never, 

Shall  cease  to  valued  be. 


THE  OLD-FASHIONED  GARRET. 

By  W.  K.  P. 

That  dear  old-fashioned  garret, 

I  never  can  forget; 

It's  haunted,  cobwebbed  chambers, 

And  scent  of  mignonette ; 

My  grandsire's  leather  saddle  bags, 

And  great  coat  hang  there  yet. 


73 


On  rainy  days,  we  children 

There  held  high  carnival, 

And  dressed  in  moth-worn  garments, 

Held  an  impromptu  ball, 

Waking  the  old-time  echoes 

From  roof  tree,  and  from  wall. 

Naught  could  daunt  our  gay  young  heartvS 

E'en  ghosts  were  welcome  there, 

Where  relics  from  Noah's  ark 

And  a  cane  bottomed  chair 

Dame  Rumor  claimed  that  Adam 

Made  for  Eve  in  Eden  fair. 

O  region  where  oblivion 
Is  quite  content  to  reign, 
To  lift  thy  magic  curtain 
The  faithful  heart  is  fain, 
Though  scattered  it's  gay  circle 
From  Oregon  to  Maine. 

Those  musty  chests  and  presses 
Crammed  full  of  bric-a-brac 
And  bundles  of  love  letters 
That  bring  the  vanished  back, 
What  rare  old  hiding-places, 
And  relics  quaint,  no  lack. 

Tomes  dusty  and  abandoned 
Unto  the  tooth  of  Time, 
Treating  of  blue  theology, 
Of  the  healing  art  sublime ; 
And  laws  that  once  were  honored 
When  Penn  was  in  his  prime. 


74 


Old  spinning  wheels  and  warming  pans 

Were  lying  cheek  by  jowl, 

With  plumes  some  brave  young  warrior 

Had  worn  when  they  were  whole, 

And  in  the  oaken  physic  chest 

A  treatise  on  the  soul. 

Such  queer  blue  China  dishes 
And  candlesticks  so  grim, 
Telling  of  festive  tables 
That  they  had  helped  to  trim, 
But  now  alack  were  empty 
Battered  and  stained  and  dim. 

A  telescope  still  mounted 
Made  by  a  bright-eyed  youth, 
Of  odds  and  ends  of  wire  and  lens, 
And  screws,  and  tubes  forsooth, 
Through  which  the  moons  of  Saturn, 
Were  seen,  and  of  a  truth. 

Brass  andirons,  tongs,  and  shovel, 
Still  shining  in  their  state, 
And  leaky,  leathern  bellows, 
Of  ancient  unknown  date, 
While  on  the  antique  dresser, 
The  stolid,  pewter  plate. 

Neat  copy  books  unblotted, 
Of  generations  four; 
And  coffin  plates  atarnished, 
At  least  an  even  score; 
But  richest  of  all  relics, 
The  Diary's  quaint  lore. 


75 


Dangling  from  one  dark  rafter 
A  great,  fantastic  bonnet, 
Our  fair  ancestress  wore, 
Theme  for  a  Lowell's  sonnet, 
The  children  could  but  wonder, 
Just  how  she  used  to  don  it. 

Great  files  of  old-time  papers 
With  comments  sage  and  terse, 
Knives,  forks,  and  spoons,  of  pewter, 
From  good  days  bound  to  worse ; 
And  embalmed  among  the  rafters 
The  Village  rhymster's  verse. 

Those  jocund,  jingling  sleighbells 
What  famous  rides  they  ring: 
When  o'er  the  icy  meadows 
The  courser's  hoofbeats  fling 
Tumultuously,  the  snow  spray 
While  blithe  the  rowers  sing. 

A  rusty  Queen  Anne  musket 
That  laid  the  hireling  low, 
Suspended  in  one  corner, 
While  the  fiddle  just  below, 
Was  awaiting  a  musician, 
Who  could  Yankee  Doodle  bow. 

Forlorn  and  faded  posies 
Quite  turned  to  dust  again, 
And  a  loveknot  of  white  ribbon 
Fair  Barbara  gave  her  Ben 
When  he  started  off  for  Boston 
To  fight  the  red-coat  men. 


76 

Through  weather-beaten  windows 
The  sunlight  sent  its  ray 
To  light  the  vasty  spaces, 
And  chase  the  gloom  away; 
Yet  had  to  rest  contented 
To  share  with  dark,  its  sway. 

The  elm  tree's  tossing  branches 
Beating  upon  the  roof, 
The  red  breast  and  the  oriole 
Singing,  wove  warp  and  woof,  . 
In  those  light-limbs  aswaying 
They  could  not  live  aloof. 

In  Springtime  fair  the  lilacs 
Breathed  perfume  on  the  air; 
And  the  squirrel  in  the  maples 
Made  his  headquarters  there, 
And  perked  his  head  and  chattered 
As  if  our  glee  to  share. 

That  mighty,  massive  chimney 

Round  which  the  house  was  built, 

About  its  smoky  summit, 

The  swallows  used  to  tilt ; 

And  great  fires  roared  through  all  its  flues, 

When  winter  snows  were  spilt. 

That  low,  red  wooden  cradle 
Oft  sheltering  a  child, 
Whose  way  thereafter  westward 
Led  through  the  forest  wild, 
Sweet  "Bonnie  Doon"  it  echoes, 
And  mother  tones  most  mild. 


77 


Styles  change,  but  human  nature 
Is  just  the  same,  as  when, 
Years  since  the  roving  Red  man 
Our  Sires  drove  from  the  glen, 
Building  this  mighty  Nation 
Those  wise,  far-sighted  men. 

Those  daring  wives  and  mothers, 
Whose  graces  and  high  aims 
Our  low  attainments  shaming, 
Who  bear  their  honored  names, 
Their  zeal  rebukes  our  coldness, 
Their  faith,  uplifts,  inflames. 

Musing  among  the  ruins 

Of  home  life  vanished  long, 

With  all  these  mute  memorials 

Awaiting  this  brief  song, 

Do  you  wonder  eyes  grew  misty, 

While  trooped  the  ghosts  along? 

Farewell,  O  haunted  garret 
With  all  thy  memories  sweet! 
Long  let  thy  chambers  echo 
The  sound  of  children's  feet; 
Long  be  thy  darkened  rafters, 
A  rainy  day's  retreat. 

JIM. 

Grizzled  and  gray,  and  grim, 

Is  Jim. 

And  tough,  I  swan,  ez  a  hickry  limb, 
But  though  he  ain't  quite  orthodox, 
His  heart  is  big  ez  that  of  an  ox. 


78 

Some  say  that  Jim  is  all-fired  queer, 

But  when  you're  in  trouble,  for  Jim  you  steer, 

And  his  kindly  look,  and  sympathy 

Help  a  feller,  mightily. 

Grizzled  and  gray,  and  grim, 

Is  Jim. 

But  who  is  kind  to  the  kids  ez  him? 
Nary  a  nuther    this  is  straight ! 
And  though  he  sometimes  goes  it-blind, 
I'd  like  at  the  end  of  life,  to  find, 
Ez  warm  a  welcome  at  Heaven's  gate 
From  the  children  who  will  his  coming  wait, 
Ez  they  cry :  "O  Jim  you're  awful  late" ! 
Grizzled  and  gray,  and  grim, 

Is  Jim. 

And  tough  I  swan,  ez  a  hick'ry  limb. 
But  the  kids  are  always  in  the  swim 
When  they  can  jest  indulge  each  whim 
With  Jim. 

JOSEPHUS  JONES. 

"I  ain't  much  on  religion," 

Said  old  Josephus  Jones; 
"But  I  really-truly  reckon 

The  Great  Almighty  owns 
This  universe  we  live  within, 
And  all  its  kings  and  thrones." 

"I  hate  my  enemies  like  sin," 

Said  Josephus  unto  me ; 
"But,  really,  God  He  made  'cm, 

So  I'd  better  let  'em  be. 
For  His  etarnal  jedgement, 

We  all  need  His  charity !" 


79 
BELGIUM. 

Belgium !     Thou  bulwark  in  the  Hour 

When  dark  the  clouds  of  War  did  lower ; 

May  Time  bring  thee  perpetual  peace, 

And  World-Wide  Love,  that  shall  not  cease. 

May  all  thy  untold  sacrifice, 

Be  honored  by  the  God  of  Love, 

Who  reigns  in  blissful  Paradise, 

And  here,  where  once  His  steps  did  rove ! 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE. 


The  great  Theodore  lay  dying ! 
The  Nation  scarcely  knew, 
He,  at  that  portal  lying, 
That  opens  on  the  Blue ! 
A  great  arch-angel  waiting, 
To  lift  the  dying  soul, 
And  him,  while  consolating, 
To  carry  to  the  Goal. 
So,  he  who  far  had  traveled 
Upon  this  wondrous  sphere, 
Has  now  that  dream  unraveled, 
That  often  haunted  here. 
For  he  has  joined  a  hero  host, 
Who  have  on  earth  been  tried, 
And  on  that  Beatific  Coast, 
Has  met  the  Crucified! 


80 
PERSHING'S  BAND 

In  early  June  in  our  Court  Square 

We  heard  the  golden  trumpts  call; 

The  youths  so  young  were  veterans  all, 

From  Fields  in  Europe,  where  they  dare 

To  face  Death  in  a  thousand  forms. 

They  played  with  emphasis,  elan, 

Preserved  by  Heaven  from  all  War's  storms. 

Long  may  they  live  to  play  for  man ! 

We  heard  well  pleased  old  "Dixie"  rare, 

And  "Over  There"  still  had  its  thrill ; 

While  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner"  still 

Ever  a  song  beyond  compare. 

Blow !  Bugles  Blow !  neath  azure  Skies 

And  voice  the  hope  that  never  dies! 


Still  stands  the  tower  that  guards  the  Square; 

The  poplars  and  the  elms  are  there, 

The  roll  of  honor  doth  attest 

Springfield  gave  of  her  very  best, 

And  girls  and  boys,  pause  in  their  play, 

To  read  the  names  that  live  alway. 

The  monuments  as  sentries  stand 

Of  millenniums  morning  land. 

Blow !  Bugles,  Blow !  your  stirring  blast ! 

We  hear  the  heroes  of  the  past 

Call  tc  the  heroes  of  To-day 

Whom  Victory  crowns  with  fadeless  bay. 

Roll,  Drums,  and  Golden  Trumpets,  sound 

A  requiem  for  the  Dead,  profound ; 

While  from  the  towering  Campanile 

The  chimes,  the  flight  of  time  reveal. 


PART  II. 

BY  ERNEST  FANOS 


OLD  GLORY. 

My  Red  stands  for  the  red  blood  of  free  men ; 
My  Blue  for  azure  skies,  o'er  a  land  of  Liberty ; 
(Not  for  the  blue  blood  of  Aristocrats  vain). 
And  my  White,  for  noble  Ideals  and  Purity. 

My  Firmament  of  Stars,  in  number  forty-eight, 
Stands  for  a  Union,  that  a  World  admires, 
As  the  deed  of  Sages  and  Patriots  great, 
Whom  Heroes  of  today,  call  their  "August  Sires!" 

I  am  the  thunder  of  Tradition,  the  lightning  of  Thrill 
I  am  the  Banner  that  never  knew  defeat ; 
I've  triumphed  over  ev'ry  Bunker  Hill, 
And  over  every  proud  Despot's  fleet. 

And  though  o'er  a  palace  of  a  king  or  sovereign, 
I  do  not  wave,  still  men  of  every  land, 
Cling  to  my  folds,  and  acclaim  my  reign, 
And  stand  faithfully,  for  what  I  stand! 

I  am  the  lofty  symbol  of  Pershing's  brave, 
In  a  purging  Armageddon  for  Democracy ; 
And,  though  I've  covered  many  a  hero's  grave, 
Still  I  saved  Mankind  from  Tyranny ! 


82 

I  am  "Dear  Old  Glory"  of  the  Noble  and  Free ; 
In  times  of  Peace  and  in  times  of  War, 
And  if  there's,  or  there's  not  a  "Millenium  to  be," 
I  stand  now  and  ever,  for  what  I  stood  before ! 

THE  YANKEE  MOOD. 

On  bushes  green,  the  dew  reposes, 

In  star-lit  drops  of  diamond; 

The  orchard  scents  with  fragrant  roses, 

That  odor  the  Zephyr,  this  evening  of  June ; 

The  moon  reflects  the  placid  pond; 

Night  birds  set  on  their  mystic  tune, 

And  Uncle  Joe  vies  with  them  in  merriment, 

On  his  banjo,  in  tones  that  the  firmament, 

Seem  to  lower,  and  stir  the  thrill, 

Of  thousand  memories,  that  lay  still ! 

And  Phantoms  benign,  of  days  of  old, 

Are  here,  this  imposing  fete,  to  behold ! 

On  with  the  melody,  that  stirs  the  thrill, 

Ere  the  Phantoms  vanish  in  the  gurgling  rill ! 

The  evening's  but  short,  and  rare  is  its  bliss, 

The  tremor  in  Uncle  Joe's  tune,  we  can  not  miss! 

On  with  the  Music,  touch  the  strings  that  sigh, 

Ere  the  blush  of  Morn,  ere  our  tears  are  dry ! 

PRIVATE  DILVOY  FROM  BOSTON. 

(Killed  in  action,  in  France.     Awarded  the  Congressional 
Medal  for  extraordinary  bravery,  July  1918.) 

I. 

In  sea-girt  Smyrna,  that  Sappho,  sang  shrill, 

In  fiery  tones  whose  grandeur  still  does  smother, 

Dilvoy  was  born,  from  a  Grecian  mother, 

And  a  Patriot  Greek,  whom  Freedom  did  thrill. 


83 

The  Dilvoys  won't  stand  for  no  Tyrant's  yoke, 
So,  they  sailed  from  Smyrna,  and  in  due  time, 
They  landed  at  Boston,  'mongst  kind  folk, 
Where  Justice  and  Liberty  reign  sublime ! 

II. 

Private  Dilvoy,  from  Boston  blest, 
Did  fight  most  bravely  against  the  Hun ; 
His  wasn't  a  task  of  greed  and  quest. 
But  a  mission  noble  and  clean  as  t'he  sun. 

A  deed  of  valor,  was  to  him  a  trance, 
That,  constantly  thrilled  his  manly  heart ; 
His  was  a  dream  to  avenge  dear  France, 
That  lay  mangling,  particle  and  part ! 

O  Martyred  France !  thou  didst  arouse 
A  World's  compassion,  and  Heroes  in  lines, 
Thy  call  did  answer,  thy  cause  did  espouse, 
And  drove  the  barbarous  off  thy  holy  confines ! 

III. 

The  clouds  of  battle  began  to  lower, 
At  hilly  Soissons  and  blood-flooded; 
And  now  cannon  alone  counted,  and  power, 
And  gallantry  supreme  of  men  red-blooded. 

What  a  slaughter  was  that,  what  a  pitched  battle ! 
A  terrible  combat,  a  man  to  man  fight; 
— Shells  and  shots  did  burst  and  rattle, 
Amid  the  smoke  and  the  darkness  of  night. 

O  memorable  night !  in  that  deadly  field, 
Why  the  Captain,  was  heard  to  cry: 
"Courage  Boys !  our  honor  we  must  shield, 
Even  all  of  us  if  we  should  die" ! 


84 

"We've  been  cut  off,  and  now  the  Huns, 
Are  aiming  at  us,  now,  who  will, 
Volunteer  to  silence  their  machine  guns. 
And  save  the  night  and  capture  the  hill?" 

A  deed  of  valor,  his  heart  did  thrill ; 
So,  Private  Dilvoy,  forward  leaps 
To  silence  the  guns  and  capture  the  hill, 
Amidst  the  dying  and  bleeding  in  heaps. 

Fortune,  the  brave,  does  help,  always, 
So,  on  crawls  Dilvoy,  from  Boston  blest ; 
His  musket  kills,  and  his  bayonet  slays 
Awe-stricken  gunners,  and  scatters  the  rest. 

Courage  high's  on  his  rosy  face, 
Grim  is  his  resolve  and  knows  no  bounds ; 
On  crawls  Dilvoy,  in  his  foe-killing  race, 
Though  his  leg's  shot  off,  and  bleed  his  wounds. 

Each  gun  is  silent,  the  hill's  taken  at  last ! 
But  the  clang  of  his  bayonet,  is  not  heard  now, 
The  hero  and  his  deed  are  myths  of  the  past; 
For,  Death  has  sealed  his  manly  brow! 


IV. 

In  far  off  France,  lies  Dilvoy  blest! 
But  near  the  heart  of  red-blooded  men ; 
His  was'nt  a  task,  of  greed  or  quest, 
But  a  noble  sacrifice  not  made  in  vain ! 


85 
VERITAS  SACRA. 

Let  the  Atheist  e'er  deny 

God,  with  ostentation; 

Surely  his  atheism  will  prove 

A  block  to  his  salvation ! 

Let  the  world's  kings  pique 

Themselves,  on  their  crowns, 

And  erect  their  so  called  trophies, 

Upon  ruined  cities  and  towns ! 

And  in  apparent  achievements 

Full  of  blast  and  worry, 

Let  them  pursue  their  happiness, 

And  their  iniquitous  glory. 

For,  only  the  just  and  humble-minded, 

Before  God  shall  be  glorified ! 

Let  the  fastidious  rich,  themselves 

On  their  treasure,  pride; 

Let  them  seek  true  liberty 

In  their  feigned  amenity ; 

For,  they  never  knew  the  poor's 

Inward  serenity ! 

And,  let  us,  with  aught  we  have, 

And  what  our  beings  uplifts, 

Be  content,  and  enjoy  our  God's, 

Benediction,  and  Nature's  gifts ! 


THE  DISINHERITED. 

Of  Seneca's  insurgent  spirit, 

A  flash,  most  opportune, 

Or  a  sob  of  Poe's  if  I  borrow, 

To  bemoan  you,  O  victims  of  Fortune, 


86 

That  it  shall  enlighten  your  benighted, 
Souls,  or  change  your  fate; 
Who  can  tell  me,  or  that  my  compassion, 
By  an  ounce  your  load  shall  abate? 

Save  our  Lord's  solemn  promise, 
Through  His  Lips  to  all  Mankind ; 
That  He  has  for  you  too,  O  Disinherited! 
A  well-disposed  mind ! 

And  so  cry  with  the  Evangelist, 
"Ye  tired  and  hopeless,  hark  my  call; 
"Come  to  me,  and  put  on  my  yoke, 
And  I  will  encourage  you  all" ! 

"And  learn  ye,  in  addition,  that  modest, 
In  my  heart  I  am  and  meek," 
"In  me  you  shall  find  for  your  souls, 
The  rest  that  you  ardently  seek" ! 

BE  FAITHFUL  TO  ME. 

Be  always  faithful  to  me,  my  dear, 
To  my  soul's  prayer  don't  turn  a  deaf  ear. 
For  there  is  no  greater  sin  above : 
Unfaithfulness  to  each  other's  love  ! 

Be  faithful  to  me,  maid  of  mine ; 
If  you  shun  my  love,  you  are  shunning  sunshine  1 
To  stifle  the  passion  of  your  heart  don't  assay; 
Come  to  me,  instead  of  going  astray ! 

Be  always  faithful  to  me,  my  fair, 
For  the  load  of  loneliness,  how  can  I  bear? 
I'd  rather  lack  in  patience  and  wisdom 
Than  suffer  the  loneliness'  martyrdom! 


87 

Be  faithful  to  me,  my  haughty  miss, 

If  you  scorn  my  calling,  you  are  scorning  bliss ! 

Come  and  be  mine,  my  maiden  fair, 

For  the  load  of  loneliness  I  cannot  bear ! 


BRAGGY  AND  BILL. 

I  remember,  when  I  was  a  schoolboy, 
Braggy  thought  he  bossed  the  class, 
And  so,  many  a  time,  we  used  to  enjoy 
Braggy  making  himself  an  ass. 

For  Braggy  could  swim,  and  play  ball  and  golf. 
He  could  fight  and  wrestle,  was  strong  and  shaggy ; 
He  could  see  like  an  eagle,  and  hear  like  a  wolf, 
So  we  had  given  him  the  nickname  "Braggy." 

One  day,  at  dusk,  we  went  for  a  dive 
At  Blakeslee's  lake,  in  "Devil's  Pool," 
Where  Fred  had  drowned,  and  didn't  revive, 
For  that  darned  pool  "does  not  fool." 

We're  recalling  the  scene,  when  Braggy  to  prove 
That  he  could  do  better  than  Fred,  "in  that  pool"? 
He  warmly  exclaimed,  and  right  in  he  dove ; 
But  they  found  him  later,  dead  and  cool. 

Thus  ended  Braggy,  and  I  do  not  still 
Feel  sorry  over  the  loss  at  all, 
But  the  incident  reminds  me  of  German  Bill, 
Who,  like  Braggy,  knew  and  could  do  it  all ! 


88 

For,  the  papers  said,  Bill  could  write, 
He  could  draw,  and  fight,  was  a  "kultured"  man; 
He  believed  in  the  right  of  terror  and  might, 
So,  sensible  people  called  him  CHARLATAN  ! 

Like  a  charlatan,  then,  ended  the  Hun, 
In  trying  to  boss  every  town  and  city ; 
And  there  is  not  a  soul  under  the  sun, 
That  has  for  Bill  a  word  of  pity ! 


YOU  AND  THE  MAY. 

Of  March  a  day  it  was,  and  all  alone 
At  a  sunny  place,  upon  a  stone 
I  was  sitting.     The  snow  was  still 
Unmelted,  and  glittering  on  the  hill, 
All  the  trees  and  bushes  were  bare, 
The  birds  and  their  songs  very  rare. 
Thus  all  them  seeing,  I  ceased  to  be  gay 
And  deeply  I  longed  for  the  beautiful  May 
With  its  fragrant  roses,  the  love  and  delight, 
When  all  of  a  sudden,  to  my  tired  sight 
You  appeared  coming  towards  my  place 
As  ever  sweet  and  dewy,  with  a  youthful  pace. 
And  as  you  were  passing  before  me, 
And  you  took  the  pudor's  color,  a  red  rosary, 
I  thought  I  saw,  flourishing  duly 
On  your  cheeks  and  lips,  that  I  swear  truly, 
In  you  my  bashful  lady,  the  beaming  like  a  day, 
The  month  I  had  been  longing  for,  I  thought  I  saw, 
The  Mav. 


89 

A  WINTER'S  MIDNIGHT  IN  THE  PYRENEES. 

The  Night's  opaque  veil  is  spread  across  the  Infinite. 
Proud  and  snowy  the  Pyrenees  reflect  the  yellowish 

sky, 

I  hear  not  a  roar  of  a  lion  wandering  in  the  forest; 
Nor  a  ghastful  ode  of  a  howlet  from  a  naked,  bush 

and  dry, 
Nor  a  herdsboy's  flute,  or  a  bellowing  from  the  village's 

pinfold, 
All  souled  and  soulless  are  fast  asleep,  save  the  torrent 

beneath  ; 
And  the  raging  Northern  Winds  that  one  is  wont  to 

think  in  terror 
Lest  their  unrelenting  blows  have  frozen  all  to  death! 

OUR  PRESIDENT. 

Hail  the  Chief !  the  statesman  and  sage, 
Whose  ardent  love  for  Liberty, 
Has  winged  the  moral  of  our  age, 
And  inspired  the  course  of  humanity. 

Hail  the  Chief !  who  set  up  a  throne 
For  noble  ideals  and  virtues  not  vain ; 
That  thrilled  warm  hearts  and  hearts  of  stone, 
To  deeds  of  valor  and  deeds  of  men. 

Hail  the  Chief !  of  late  appeased ; 
Now  that  the  worry  of  a  World  has  ceased! 
His  are  the  thanks  that  freed  slaves  bring; 
The  hymn  of  praise  that  Muses  sing. 

Hail  the  Chief  1  that  led  us  to  fight 
So  that  innocent  children  may  not  be  slain ; 
So  that  true  fellowship,  peace  and  right 
May  reign  over  the  earth  again. 


90 
GLORIA,  VOSTRA  EST.     (July,   1918.) 

Yours  is  the  glory,  my  Motherland, 
When  you  draw  your  sword  with  a  righteous  hand ! 
And  flee  the  Teutons,  the   Barbars  tremble, 
As  your  mythic  sons  in  ranks  assemble. 

Cradle  of  Liberty,  your  wrath  is  the  grave 
Of  Despots  exultant,  and  Oppressors  knave; 
Yours  is  the  glory  when  Tyranny  falls, 
As  your  stirring  voice  to  arms,  to  arms,  calls. 

Yours  is  the  glory.     Your  trophies  stand 
As  triumphs  eternal  on  sea  and  land, 
Resplendent  grandeur  through  the  lapse  of  time, 
Your  Patriots  true,  and  your  Heroes  sublime. 

And  Pride  unfading,  their  deeds  of  renown ; 
In  History's   Bibles,  that  are  written  down ! 
Yours  is  the  glory  that  Bards  sang,  shrill, 
In  songs  that  arouse  and  hymns  that  thrill. 

THE  BUFFOON  AND  THE  COUNTRYMAN. 

At  a  country  fair,  there  was  a  buffoon, 

Who,  by  imitating  the  animals'  cries 

Made  the  people  laugh,  and  as  soon 

As  he  finished  off,  in  the  most  exact  wise 

As  that  of  a  pig,  squeaking,  spectators  all 

Thought  a  concealed  porker,  around  him,  he  had. 

But  a  countryman  who  stood  by,  "do  you  call 

That  a  pig's  squeak?     Nothing  like  it,"  he  said; 

And  till  tomorrow,  if  you  give  to  me, 

I  will  show  you  how  it  ought  to  be !" 


91 

The  audience  laughed,  but  sure  in  his  stead, 

On  the  stage  appeared  the  countryman,  next  day ; 

And  so  hideously  he  squealed,  his  head  putting  down, 

That  all  spectators  called  him  a  clown ; 

And  threw  stones  on  him,  with  the  obvious  scope, 

To  force  his  squealing  at  once  to  stop. 

"You  fools,"  then  he  cried,  "what  you  hissed,  see !" 

And  a  little  pig  he  held  up,  whose  ear  pinched  he, 

To  make  him  utter  his  unwelcome  squeals. 

The  fable  is  true  and  old  as  Adam  and  Eve; 
For,  because  Real  Value  itself  conceals, 
We,  mortals,  are  inclined*  often  to  believe, 
In  its  imitation,  and  its  forged  guise, 
In  order  to  live  content  and  seemingly  wise ! 

THE  TEMPEST. 

On  the  rising  ocean,  the  clouds  lower ; 

A  fearful  omen  for  the  ships  that  roam ; 

The  winds  blow  fierce,  and  heavy  is  the  shower, 

That  breaks  against  the  billows  that  foam ; 

The  misty  gloom's  spread,  not  a  ray  of  light, 

One  thinks  the  Atlantic  has  vanished  from  sight ; 

Ahoy !  a-mast,  a-ridgepole  hover, 

What  fear  ye,  cowards  ?     Soon  the  storm'll  be  over. 

But  blow  a-stern,  and  a  smash  a-side, 

And  masts  and  men  are  wrecks  on  the  tide ! 

Brave  Captain  Yorke,  in  that  raging  storm, 

Weird  are  his  movements  and  wild  is  his  form. 

Ahoy!     Help!     But  stifled  is  his  cry, 

'Mid  the  roaring  eloquence  of  sea  and  of  sky ; 

Ahoy !     The  Captain  with  the  tempest  fell  in  strife, 

Clung  to  a  plank  of  his  own  ship,  to  save  his  life ! 


92 
THE  WOLF  AND  THE  KID. 

A  senseless  kid  once,  sitting  on  a  straw 
On  the  top  of  a  house  in  the  village,  as  he  saw 
A  wolf  that  passing  was,  under  him, 
Began  to  sneer  at  him  and  revile  with  whim. 
"Murderer,"  he  cried,  "thief  and  clown, 
What  are  you  doing,  these  folks'  house  near  ? 
And  how  do  you  dare  even  to  appear 
Here,  where  your  vile  deeds  are  known?" 
To  him,  then  answering,  his  head  turned  up 
The  wolf,  and  said :     "It  is  not  you,  I  know 
Who  sneers  and  reviles  me,  Oh,  no ! 
But,  curse  away,  your  high  top !" 
This  fable  is  true,  with  Human  Race ; 
For  amongst  us,  base,  grow  too,  who  when 
Time  or  circumstance  permits  it,  or  place, 
Will  always  revile,  their  better  men. 

THE  ASS  AND  THE  LION'S  SKIN. 

A  lion's  skin,  an  ass  once  found 

Which  some  hunters,  at  a  sunny  place 

Had  left  it  to  dry.     And  putting  it  on, 

Towards  the  village  he  directed  his  pace. 

Both,  all  inhabitants  and  animals,  too, 

At  his  approach,  of  course  all  fled ; 

And  so,  dominator,  the  ass,  and  proud, 

A  "Lion's  Glory"  that  day  had ! 

But  in  his  delight,  he  lifted  up  his  voice 

And  brayed.  . .  .but  then  ev'ry  one  knew 

Who  he  was .  .  and  his  owner,  angry, 

Came  up  and  gave  him,  a  cudgeling,  due 

To  the  breach  and  fright  that  the  ass  had  caused! 


93 


And  shortly  after,  came  a  fox  who  "your  noise 
Cannot  frighten,"  he  said,  "no  soul  more, 
For  we  knew  you,  O  ass,  by  your  voice !' 
For,  if  it  is  possible,  that  fine  clothes, 
Properly  may  a  fool  disguise, 
Still  his  unfitting  and  silly  words 
Will  disclose  him,  likewise ! 


THE  SEXTON. 

The  cemetery's  strange  loneliness, 

Has  chained  his  liberty, 

And  the  daily  scenes  of  affliction, 

Deprived  him  of  his  gaiety ! 

As  if  he  belonged  to  some  other  world, 

Void  of  care  and  hope, 

The  sexton  passed  the  narrow  road 

Of  his  life's  monotonous  scope ! 

As  happeningless  was  his  youth, 

So  is  his  old  age,  too; 

And  a  remembrance  sweet,  or  bitter, 

Has  nothing  with  him  to  do ! 

Still,  when  his  all-white  hair 

He  observes,  a  remembrance  tender 

Does  stir  him,  for  he  also  has 

A  soul,  to  God  to  surrender ! 


EPITAPHS. 
TO  A  USURER. 

Here  lies  a  usurer,  who  during  his  stay 

On  earth,  the  poor  in  scores,  he  did  flay; 

And,  having  finished  the  flayings,  he  saved  the  skins, 


94 

And,  stowing  in  them,  all  his  perjuries  and  sins. 

When  his  hour  struck,  to  his  Master  his  soul  gave, 

And,  hopeful  he  and  gay,  departed  to  his  grave, 

To  find  thither  and  join  once  more, 

The  poor  that  he  had  flayed  on  earth  before, 

In  order  to  free  himself  from  his  punishable  sins, 

By  lending  to  them,  the  rascal,  their  own  skins  I 


TO  A  DRUNKARD. 

Here  a  drunkard  is  interred  as  safely  as  in  a  snare, 
Who,  having  drunk  to  satiety,  all  drinks,  common  and 

rare, 

And  finding  no  further  pleasure,  he  resolved  to  death 
Himself  to  submit,  and  so,  to  Him  he  gave  his  breath, 
In  order,  the  capricious,  his  whim  to  satisfy, 
By  drinking  the  "cup"  of  Death,  as  he  would  die! 


TO  AN  UPSTART. 

Here  an  upstart  from  time  is  laid, 
Who  used  to  constantly  all  those  upbraid 
Who  had  not  even  for  money  a  lust, 
And  said  for  each  one  of  them,  lo !  a  soulless  dust! 
But  now  in  dust  he  lies,  and  can  not  arise, 
No  matter  his  "ability"  and  his  being  wise ! 
And  beneath  the  earth  where  he  lies  now, 
Nothing  else  worries  him,  nothing  furrows  his  brow, 
Save  the  thought  that  his  "rivals"  he  had  to  bid  fare 
well, 
Before  he  could  entirely,  his  soul  to  money  sell ! 


95 
TO  A  SOCIALIST. 

Here  is  laid  a  Socialist 

A  God's  poor  creature, 

Whose  face  fitted  as  a  model 

For  a  meagre  caricature ; 

Who  did  ungrudgingly  suffer 

Near-starvation's  martyrdom, 

And  when  was  exhausted  the  treasure 

Of  his  patience  and  wisdom, 

Hopeful  and  joyful  his  soul 

He  surrendered  to  his  Creator; 

And  as  he  had  been  a  good  man 

And  never  to  his  "principles"  traitor, 

He  resolved  to  leave  for  his  grave, 

Thinking,  in  his  frugality 

That  he'd  enjoy  in  that  other  Planet 

The  ideal  Equality! 

For,  as  he  didn't  know,  that 

In  that  other  Planet,  men  lived  too, 

The  dolt  judged  other  people 

By  his  Socialistic  points  of  view! 


A  SUMMER'S  NIGHT. 

Proud  and  moonlight  crowned, 
The  trees  in  the  forest  stand, 
Like  some  supernatural  giants 
Of  the  fables  of  Grecian  Land. 
While  the  rill  is  murmuring, 
And  zephyrs  blow,  refining, 
And  the  howlet's  dolefully  singing 
From  a  bush,  and  whining. 


96 
MARY,  OF  PINE  GROVE. 

A  marvel  of  beauty  and  grace, 
Is  Mary  of  Pine  Grove. 
A  lily-made  maiden, 
And  chaste  like  a  dove. 

Her  perfect  head  of  Juno, 

With  tresses  fair  and  fine, 

Her  eyebrows  crayon-drawn, 

And  her  eyes  of  blue  and  sunshine ! 

Her  cheeks  of  velvet  rare, 
Carressed  by  stray  curls, 
Her  lips  of  coral,  that  smile 
And  reveal  two  rows  of  pearls. 

Her  neck  of  the  swan,  and  her  breast, 
Of  the  partridge,  rich  and  mature ; 
Rosy-fingered  like  the  dawn, 
And  sculptural  is  her  stature  J 

And  dewy  like  a  morn  of  June, 
And  like  a  zephyr,  sweet, 
A  marvel,  she  is,  of  beauty, 
Amongst  her  sex,  discreet ! 

Oh,  bless  that  lovely  maiden, 
Mary,  of  Pine  Grove ! 
Whom  Nature  gifted  so  rarely. 
And  God,  with  a  heart  to  love ! 


97  ".',;>*'> 

THE  RETURNING  CRUSADERS. 


Before  the  cheering  mass  they  march, 
The  mythic  Heroes  from  U.  S.  A. 
And  down  under  Triumph's  Arch, 
The  Boys  that  held  the  Huns  at  bay ! 


Oh,  the  manly  tread  of  Victors'  feet, 
Who  trod  in  France,  in  battle  assembled, 
And  where  Death  and  Life  meet, 
Fired  the  shots  that  All  Germany  trembled ! 


Oh  the  drums  that  beat,  the  bands  that  play ; 
Paeans  of  to-day  and  paeans  of  long  ago; 
The  shell-torn  banners  that  tell  the  fray; 
The  guns  that  roared  our  cause  to  the  foe ! 


Before  the  cheering  mass  they  march, 
These  welcomed  defenders  of  a  new  Marathon; 
And  as  they  pass  under  Triumph's  Arch, 
They  feel  their  task  is  well  won ! 


Oh  the  cheers  that  rise  and  tell  the  Deeds, 

Of  the  Brave,  Dead  and  Living,  from  Freemen's  Clime; 

Of  men  and  women,  of  all  colors  and  creeds, 

Whose  Fame  shall  challenge  the  Oncome  of  Time ! 


-98 
EVE  ETERNAL. 


Like  an  angel  that  arose  his  Lord  to  praise, 

Eve  Eternal  you  seem, 
When  at  dawn  to  you  my  eyes  I  raise, 

And  dreams  of  you  I  dream. 


A  priceless  blessing  to  virtuous  and  vile, 

I  fancy  you  a  chaste  dove, 
For  my  heart  feels  your  goodness  when  your  corals  smile, 

And  inspire  life  and  love. 


And  when  you  wander  'mongst  roses  and  musks, 
In  your  Eden-like  garden,  at  peaceful  dusks. 

You  resemble  your  foremother,  Eve  the  fair, 

Who  descended  on  earth,  some  Adam  to  ensnare ! 


THE  END. 


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OCT   8    1943 


LD'21-100m-7,'39(402s) 


American  nights 


:     V 


831920 


J 


418763 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


